And so, without hesitation, he at once assumed the part for which the French fencing-master cast him. He shrugged his own shoulders in true French fashion, and having returned the revolver to the side pocket of his coat, he raised his eyes, turned out the palms of his hands and replied:
“Yes. I have heard that you, Monsieur Antoine, have some idea of fence, but—parbleu!—it is nothing to what I can do. Monsieur Antoine has not the requisite strength of the wrist; not the quickness of the eye; not the nimbleness of the feet upon the floor; not the touch, the curve, the twist, the reach with the arm; not the——”
“So? Is it so? Does the monsieur believe what he says to be true? Ha! It is a relish that you have brought to me, monsieur. I will instruct you in the fence; no? Yes! You shall see. Will the monsieur be kind enough to step this way?”
This room, like the other which Nick had seen, was large. It was evidently the home of the fencing-master, for the walls were covered with foils, swords, rapiers, broadswords, battle-axes, staves, dueling-pistols, masks, gauntlets, chest-shields, shoulder-pads—in short, everything was there which belonged to the arts of offense and defense with the blade.
At one end of the room was a raised section, which extended, perhaps, an inch above the surface of the floor, and this was filled with fine, white sand; and it was toward this spot that the Frenchman conducted the detective.
“Look,” said the fencing-master, pointing toward some hooks against the wall. “If monsieur will divest himself of his coat; so. Ah! It is a pleasure, a relish that monsieur has brought to me. I will produce my most superb foils——”
“Foils!” exclaimed Nick, with some outward show of contempt. “Rapiers, if you please. The foils are for children.”
“Ha! It is magnificent! It is glorious! But we fence, then, not for death? No? For the little touch of the master; is it not so? Yes? For the little twinge at the lobe of the ear; for the prick like a pin-point at the nipple of the breast. Ha! Grand! Magnificent! Monsieur has the true idea. Foils are for children. The fence shall not be seriously to wound the opponent, then? No? No! It shall be to draw the spot of blood, like the glow of a ruby, one, two, three times? Yes! Three times in succession. Ha! If you do that, you shall be the victor. En garde, monsieur!”
While the Frenchman was talking he was also preparing himself for the combat, and every nerve in his lithe body seemed to be alive with joy at the prospect. Egotism is the first requisite for a fencing-master.
Nick Carter excelled in the art of fence, as he did in all other exercises of self-defense. In his youth his father had neglected none of these requirements in preparing the son for his career, and he was as perfect in the use of the foil, the rapier, the broadsword, the staves, and all weapons of the kind as he was with rifle or revolver. Then, add to the perfection of science the wonderful strength which reposed in his muscles, and any fencer will tell you that nothing on earth should be able to defeat him.