"How very extraordinary," continued Joey, "that Lennox, on his way from Mr. M——'s to the wharf, should have stumbled on the little man, with the ruffian in the very act of rifling him."
"Why, he did not rifle me," said I, faintly. They both started, and looked towards me. "He did not rob me, for I distinctly recollect his starting off when he stabbed me."
"Ay, sir, that was to see if he had been sure in his blow—for Lennox came on him after he returned, just as he struck his stiletto into you the second time, as you lay on the ground, and after having, with the speed of thought, seized the bolsa with the doubloons."
"Wounded me twice! Upon my honour," said I, fumbling in my bosom, "and so he has—the villain."
Mr Peak continued—"From the marine's account, he himself had a tough job of it, for if he had not got hold of the knife, that had dropped during the scuffle, he would have been done for, in place of having finished the bravo."
"Finished the bravo! Is the man who wounded me dead, then?"
"Not yet, sir," continued Mr Peak. "But he cannot live, I hear—Lennox made sure work of it. He told me himself, that in his desperation he passed the knife into him, until his thumb was stopped by his ribs—none of your back blows, but a straight thrust—a regular pig-butcher's slide, sir."
"Pig-butcher's slide! how classical! If he had not deserved it," said I, "I would have been sorry that a fellow-creature's blood had been shed even in my defence."
"No, no," quoth De Walden, "it was, more properly speaking, in Lennox's own defence; for the villain, not content with killing you, as he thought he had done, and robbing you besides, would most assuredly have served the poor Scotchman the same way, if he had not been beforehand with him."
"But where is Lennox?"