"Yes. It was not bad with a little olive oil and vinegar; but the very thought makes me hungry. What have you in that dish beside you?"
"Something better than a crape mask, I assure you." And Trotto put aside the cover, only to let it fall with a little crash as he stared at the white thing, and glanced up to meet my eyes, and hear my gibe.
"A little surprise I prepared for you—a delicate attention."
Trotto knew he was discovered. He began to breathe quickly, and his hand once more went down.
"Divide it, captain," I mocked; "there is just enough for two—ah!" And I caught his wrist as he made a sudden stab at me, and pulled him half over the table, springing backwards to my feet as I did so. In his confusion he pushed the table over, and fell sideways on the floor, dragging with him the tablecloth and the supper.
He was at my mercy. It needed but a thrust, and his life was ended; but I gave him his chance.
"Get up, and take your sword!"
Trotto rose, his face white, his lips bleeding, and snatching his sword from its sheath thrust at me, with a strange smile on his face. He had lied when he said Piero was gone. All unknown to me Piero had remained, and opening the door stood at my back, his knife in his hand. I saw not the death behind me, and stiff as I was from my wound my attention was fully taken up by Trotto, who was no mean artist, and fought like a cat at bay. But Pierrebon saw, and raised his arquebus. The bravo behind me was about to strike, when there was a flash, a loud report, and he rolled over a huge, limp, and lifeless mass. At the shot Trotto had sprung back with a gasp to the corner of the room, and crouched there like a rat, staring through the smoke at us, for Pierrebon had run to my side.
"Keep the door, Pierrebon," I said, and I stepped forward; but the
Italian was done.
"I yield," he said; "I have lost." And he lowered his sword; but between us there could be no parley.