Such a cry, as the stylet dug into the flesh. The grip on my revolver hand relaxed so that with a sharp wrench I could release it. The fingers of the Count’s other hand still rigidly clutched the strange weapon. I had now the pistol free and pressed to his temple.
“Let go!” I said, “or I’ll blow your brains out!”
“Shoot!” he cried. “Shoot! I defy you, cursed Englishman! You dare not!”
He raised his head and tried furiously to bite my hand. I beat his head back with the revolver and drove by sheer weight the stylet into his neck. He screamed and wriggled like a wounded animal, but I had no pity for him, only heartily wishing the part I was forced to play had fallen to another man’s lot. As I held him there an idea crossed my mind and determined me to get from him the murderous little weapon which he held so tenaciously. After a sharp struggle I succeeded in unloosening the nervous fingers, and, obtaining possession of the instrument, flung it to the farther end of the room.
The Count now lay absolutely still, except for his heaving chest. Suspicious of his further power for mischief I began to feel for any weapon he might have about him. There was a revolver in a pocket of his coat. I took it out, and then drew a little away, contenting myself with watching keenly for any suspicious movement.
He lay quite passive on the table just as I had forced him down: on his back with his legs dangling, his feet scarcely touching the floor. It seemed as though all the fight was beaten out of him. The situation was a hideous one for me, and I began to speculate how long it would last and how it would end, when suddenly a convulsive shudder seemed to run through the man as he lay before me. His hands opened and clenched thrice, then another convulsion shook him and he called me by name.
“Shoot me!” he gasped in a voice thick and hardly recognizable. “If you are a man send a bullet through me and put me out of my agony.”
The conjecture in my mind now became a certainty; I returned no answer; simply waited in silence.
Another spasm seemed to madden him.
“Shoot me! Shoot me, curse you!” he cried, breaking out into a string of hideous imprecations.