Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
At the same moment the door swung to with a thunderous crash, and a blaze of blinding light filled the interior of the hunting lodge of the Grand Duke of Lützelburg.
For the moment O'Rourke could do naught but blink confusedly, being more than half blinded by the sudden plunge from utter darkness into that electric glare.
But in those few passing seconds he thought very swiftly, and began to understand what was happening; in proof of which comprehension he stepped back, putting his shoulders to the closed door and tightening his grip upon the naked saber which he still carried.
"A trap!"
He ground the words bitterly between his teeth, looking about him dazedly, still unable to see clearly; but he heard a grim chuckle—the cold laugh of malicious satisfaction. And then, "Messieurs," said a voice that sounded reminiscently in his ears, "permit me to introduce the rat!"
O'Rourke looked directly toward the speaker; his gaze met eyes hard and without warmth—sneering eyes vitalized with hatred, small and black, set narrowly in a face pale and long—the face of Monsieur le Prince.
And as he watched, the thin lips twisted, while again the scornful laugh rang out.
"Messieurs," the prince repeated, "the rat!"
Some one laughed nervously.
O'Rourke recovered a bit of his lost composure. He addressed this new-sprung enemy. "I'm observing," he said coolly, "that here is not only the trap and the rat, but also the dog for the rat-killing—ye infamous whelp!"
He was looking into the barrel of a revolver, held in the prince's steady hand—looking, indeed, into death's very eye. And he knew it, yet turned a contemptuous shoulder
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