“‘I may count upon you, Herr Lieutenant?’
“Zol for the first time lost his temper.
“‘Oh!’ exclaimed he, ‘you may go to the devil as far as I am concerned. If you would begin your journey now, I should be obliged to you. Your wife will be here in a minute or two. It is a pity that you should see her in that state. Go home now and sleep, and return here to-morrow, if the police will let you.’
“At the word ‘police’ the Italian started up, sobered in a moment.
“‘Maledetto, little lieutenant, what should the police have to do with me?’
“‘You can answer that question best yourself—you and the corporal of Jajce. Should I tell you your own history, as I shall tell it presently—unless you behave yourself—at the War Office here? That would be a waste of time, Herr Klun.’
“Zol spoke without much thought. So little did he fear the Italian that he did not even turn in his seat to watch him. But the sweat of terror was upon the brow of the other, and the devil was at his heart. Springing from his chair, with anger hissing upon his lips, he drew his dagger from his girdle, and gripped the boy.
“‘Come, Herr Lieutenant, you shall tell nothing!’ he cried.
“Zol was up now, for the firelight had shown him the flash of the steel. Turning deftly, he caught the Italian’s arm as it descended, but the blade of the dagger ripped his coat at the shoulder, and he could feel the point of the weapon running like a burning wire over his flesh. In another moment the two men were reeling round the room together, the one fighting with the strength of a madman to release the arm which held his stiletto; the other hugging the Italian to him with all the strong grip of young muscles.
“Zol has told me often, excellency, that his only thought in all the fierce minutes of that terrible struggle was one of little Christine. ‘She will return to find my body here,’ he thought. Quick as he was, sure-footed, and with nerves of steel, he knew that he was no match for the woodlander’s son. Ugo had muscles like ropes of iron; a life lived in the mountains had broadened his chest and trained his limbs so that few even in his own village could stand against him. Had it not been for the months of debauchery which Christine’s money had permitted to him, he would have killed the lad as we should crush a nut beneath our feet. And the drink he had taken robbed his feet of their sureness; there was a mist before his eyes when Zol gripped him; he had a buzz of sounds in his ears and a tightness at the throat as of one suffocating. Twice by a supreme effort he drew back his arm, the knife passing through the lieutenant’s hand and cutting the flesh to the bone; twice that arm was gripped again, and the two men, bound together as by ropes of wire, rolled round the room, knocking the vases from the cabinets, the glasses from the table—even the lamps from their pedestals. Sweat was thick upon the brows of both. They gasped for breath like runners; cries escaped them—the cries of men upon the threshold of death. Round they went, round yet again; now pausing for very truce of weakness; now closing so firmly that their muscles cracked and their bones were almost bending. And then the supreme moment came. God! what a moment to live!