“Excellently well,” he answered, turning for the first time towards me. “And now, sir, under the existing circumstances I think that we may waive the usual formalities.”
As he spoke he divested himself of his outer coat and the starred and decorated one below it. This done, he tossed aside his hat and wig and stood before me in his shirt of white cambric; and then indeed, at sight of the splendid specimen of manhood thus revealed, had I been a timorous man, I might well have fallen to reckoning up my chances of success. But no thought of that entered my mind as, throwing off my own poor coat, I bared my arms to the elbow, and drawing my rapier, tested it against the side of my boot. ’Twas the one that he had taken from the wall, and was a good bit of steel, pliant and nicely weighted—as indeed it had need to have been, seeing the issues that hung upon its blade. Then I advanced to take up my position upon the sand and, saluting briefly, we fell to work and our swords crossed. Aye, and from the very first I knew that I had met an adversary whom it would tax all my skill to conquer. From the beginning he fought with a cool determination—a calm confidence of the result that did little towards steadying my somewhat wild fence of the first few moments. For my mind was busy picturing what was already happening inside the house, and every minute I expected to hear the voices of the dragoons from the cliffs above that should tell of our discovery. Never before, not even when I met and worsted Galliani, the finest blade in Italy, nor when, before Belgrade, I had slain the celebrated Azim Alli before the eyes of two armies, was my skill in swordplay so put to the test. To and fro across the little patch of sand we thrust and parried; the rasping of our blades mingling with the lap of the encroaching waves. But never once, for all my fierce attack, could I get past that iron guard, and when, after five minutes had passed, and we drew back for a moment, as if by mutual consent, to regain our labouring breath, neither of us could boast of having gained any advantage over his opponent.
Save that the handsome face of the man before me was slightly pale, he was outwardly as calm, as self-possessed as ever, rather as if he were engaged in some friendly encounter with the foils than with an adversary whose reputation with the rapier—I speak it in all sincerity—was common talk from London to Vienna.
But the moment’s breathing space had steadied my nerve, and when, in response to my brief, “On guard, sir!” our blades again crossed, the fierce joy of the combat had entered into my veins, and I resolved to put in practice a certain thrust that had been shown me many years before by an old sergeant of Papenstein’s dragoons. ’Twas a sure and deadly thrust to those unknowing of its defence; and though I had no intention of pressing it home to a fatal issue, I felt assured of its success for the purpose I had in view. But to accomplish it required the utmost nicety of distance; and so, in pursuance of my object, I attacked him again so fiercely that I drove him back to the very edge of the sand. But once there my wrist weakened, my thrusts became more and more feeble. Then, as he gave a sudden rally, I began to give ground before him. Step by step I retreated, barely keeping him at sword’s point; and so well must I have played my part that, as he plyed me with thrust on thrust and I still fell back, I saw a faint smile curl his lips. And I too smiled in my heart as, without removing my eyes from his, I yet marked the exact spot where I should strike. And a moment later my chance came. For, thrusting high, as he threw up his arm to guard, I entwined my blade round his with a wrench that all but disarmed him, and in the same movement with an upward turn of the wrist I ran him through the body.
Without a groan his sword dropped from his hand, and, staggering slightly, he fell face downwards upon the sand. In a moment, throwing my own weapon from me, I was down on my knees by his side. A brief examination showed me that I had not miscalculated my thrust save by a hair’s breadth from the spot that I had marked. The wound was high up in the muscles of the right breast, and my experience told me that ’twas but a matter of a week or two at most ere he was again upon his feet.
On a sudden, as I stooped over him, I heard the sound of a footstep striking against a stone, accompanied by a muffled cry. Leaping to my feet, I turned in time to see the figure of a man hurrying down the cliff path behind me. I confess that at the sight my heart almost stopped beating, for I thought that my labour had been in vain and that the dragoons were upon me. But at a second glance I recognised the familiar figure of the steward, whose approach neither of us had heard in the heat of our late encounter. A moment later he had gained my side, and was staring down, dazed and horror stricken, upon the unconscious figure of his master.
“What is this?” he stammered, his jaw falling. “What have you done? My God, you have killed him!”
“No, fool,” I answered curtly, “I have saved him!”
Yet for all the help he was capable of giving me I might as well have been without his assistance had I not caught him roughly by the arm.
“There, man,” I cried quickly, “don’t stand staring so! What of the dragoons?”