ed himself to Constans, naively confident of masculine
sympathy. "Well, if that isn't--" but the words failed him.

Constans, angry and humiliated as he was, could not help smiling.

"You know it wasn't exactly fair," he said.

The boy considered, then answered, honestly:

"It wasn't, then, but what are we going to do about it? You are a
Houseman, and you have come to spy out the secrets of Doom the
Forbidden. Any of the men who saw you would kill you like a snake."

"Perhaps so, but they would not wait until my back was turned or get a
girl to help them."

Constans suddenly realized that he stood free of his bonds. The boy had
severed them with his clasp-knife, that being the quickest means of
releasing his captive.

"We will fight for it, then," he said, simply.

Constans nodded.

It was not at all an even match, for Constans was at least thirty pounds
lighter than his adversary, and his slightly longer reach of arm was
more than counter-balanced by the latter's ability to take any amount of
punishment.

Half a dozen ineffectual passes and they clinched. Constans was forced
backward; he tripped and fell. The blows, short but savage, rained down
upon his face. He tried to strike back, but his throat was gripped hard;
he was suffocating. Consciousness was about to desert him, and he felt
vaguely angry at this betrayal of his senses; then the light returned,
and he sat up, his head swimming. A man stood between him and his late
opponent. It was Quinton Edge, and the recognition was a mutual one.

"Oh, you!" drawled Quinton Edge, with that well-remembered,
fine-gentleman inflection. "I am almost sorry that I interfered, but
this young lady would have it so, and a woman's will is always law. Eh,
Ulick?"

But the boy Ulick scowled. "It was no business of yours," he said,
angrily.

"That depends. Besides, it stands to reason that no man likes to see his
own property mishandled. You don't realize, my good fellow, that you
have a fist as rough as a shark-skin."

"Your property!" echoed the boy, in disdain. "Prove it."

"Easily," smiled Quinton Edge, and drew aside the lock of hair that
concealed the V-shaped nick in Constans's left ear.

"Oh!" said Ulick, shortly. He had been quick to see and interpret the
appeal in his prisoner's eyes. "It makes not a particle of difference,"
asserted Ulick, stubbornly. "He is my captive, taken in fair fight, and
he belongs to me for all of his nicked ear. I sha'n't give h