was toward, and
guessing Garnache's intentions, sought by a rush to force his way into
the Chamber. But Garnache was ready for him. There was a harsh grind of
steel on steel, culminating in a resounding lest, and Fortunio was back
in the guard-room, whither he had leapt to save his skin. A pause fell
at that, and Garnache lowered his point to rest his arm until they
should again come at him. From beyond the doorway the captain called
upon him to yield. He took the summons as an insult, and flew into a
momentary passion.

"Yield?" he roared. "Yield to you, you cut-throat scum? You shall have
my sword if you will come for it, but you shall have it in your throat."

Angered in his turn, Fortunio inclined his head to his companion's ear,
issuing an order. In obedience to it, it was the bravo now who advanced
and engaged Garnache. Suddenly he dropped on to his knees, and over his
head Garnache found his blade suddenly opposed by Fortunio's. It was a
clever trick, and it all but did Garnache's business then. Yet together
with the surprise of it there came to him the understanding of what was
intended. Under his guard the kneeling man's sword was to be thrust up
into his vitals. As a cry of alarm broke from mademoiselle, he leapt
aside and towards the wall, where he was covered from Fortunio's weapon,
and turning suddenly he passed his sword from side to side through the
body of the kneeling mercenary.

The whole thing he had performed mechanically, more by instinct than
by reason; and when it was done, and the tables were thus effectively
turned upon his assailants, he scarcely realized how he had accomplished
it.

The man's body cumbered now the doorway, and behind him Fortunio stood,
never daring to advance lest a thrust of that sword which he could not
see--Garnache still standing close against the wall--should serve him
likewise.

Garnache leaned there, in that friendly shelter, to breathe, and he
smiled grimly under cover of his mustache. So long as he had to deal
with a single assailant he saw no need to move from so excellent a
position. Close beside him, leaning heavily against the table she had
dragged thus far, stood Valerie, her face livid as death, her heart
sick within her at the horror inspired her by that thing lying on the
threshold. She could not take her eyes from the crimson stain that
spread slowly on the floor, coming from under that limply huddled mass
of arms and legs.

"Do not look, mademoisel