"You young fool, don't you know me yet?" and Rudolf lowered his blade, resting its point on the floor, while with his left hand he indicated Rupert's weapon. Yet something warned him: it may be there came a look in Rupert's eyes, perhaps of scorn for his enemy's simplicity, perhaps of pure triumph in the graceless knavery. Rudolf stood waiting.
"You swear you won't touch me while I pick it up?" asked Rupert, shrinking back a little and thereby getting an inch or two nearer the mantelpiece.
"You have my promise; pick it up. I won't wait any longer."
"You won't kill me unarmed?" cried Rupert, in alarmed scandalised expostulation.
"No; but"
The speech went unfinished, unless a sudden cry were its ending. And as he cried, Rudolf Rassendyll, dropping his sword on the ground, sprang forward. For Rupert's hand had shot out behind him and was on the butt of one of the revolvers. The whole trick flashed on Rudolf, and he sprang, flinging his long arms round Rupert. But Rupert had the revolver in his hand.
In all likelihood the two neither heard nor heeded, though it seemed to me that the creaks and groans of the old stairs were loud enough to wake the dead. For now
