Then, suddenly, the detective discovered his opportunity. He stepped forward quickly, almost inside the Frenchman’s guard; and then——
Thrust, thrust—parry—thrust.
His weapon darted out like the tongue of a toad in three quick flashes of light. The first of these touched and half-pierced the Frenchman’s right ear; the second performed the same service for the left one; the third pinked him on the breast, so that a little spot of blood, not larger than a pea, appeared suddenly upon the surface of the hitherto spotless linen.
And then, before the Frenchman had time to utter a word, the detective turned his rapier in a circle, caught the other under the hand-guard and tore it from the fencing-master’s hand, so that in another instant it fell clattering at the opposite side of the room.
For a moment Lafetre seemed utterly dazed by what had happened; and then, with a cry, he leaped forward, fell upon his knees at Nick’s feet, and, seizing his hands in his own, kissed them rapturously.
“Magnificent!” he cried. “Never have I seen such fence! Ah, monsieur, I am your slave henceforth. You have the wrist of steel, the quickness of lightning, the eye of omnipotence. It is my first defeat, monsieur, but it is a victory even to have had the honor to fence with one so great. Command me. I am your servant. Your slave, from this hour.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE SUMMONS AT THE DOOR.
The Frenchman meant what he said, too. There could be no doubt of that. Sincerity, as well as rapture and admiration, were depicted on his face as he knelt there before the detective, kissing his hands.