d, quite serious
this time. "No, I don't want it," he said as she held it out to him.
"You know what to do with it if the time comes."

They had not long to wait. Their opponents, confident of success, came
rapidly forward. One figure was familiar even in the gloom. It was
Josef. With a leap the trio were upon Carter. He felt the impact of
their blades like pulse beats in the darkness as they met his own steel.
As weapon met weapon in clanging song his spirits arose. He wanted to
chant to the dainty, cruel rhythm of the tempered strokes. He knew on
the instant that he should vanquish these foes. Muscle after muscle,
sinew after sinew, thickened and grew lean alternately as thrust
followed guard. His body, moving with his arm, seemed following some
primitive dance--the orgy of the Sword, the prince of battle weapons.

He heard a smothered gasp in the darkness, succeeded by a curse in a
familiar voice.

"You, Josef?" he queried with a satisfied laugh.

"Not yet, m'sieu the American," came back the sneering answer. "You
first," it taunted, just beyond Carter's reach in the gloom. The remark
was followed by a slight touch in the shoulder from which the warm
blood spouted as the keen point was withdrawn.

"Not quite low enough for me, Josef," answered Carter. "That was only a
scratch. Try a ripost. I don't intend to wound _you_. I am going to kill
you."

"You'll have no chance. We are three and we will carry off the Lady
Trusia. She'll be a dainty bit for our feasting." A sob behind him
apprised him that she had heard.

"Cur," Carter cried, and drove straight for the neck he knew held a
smirking face. With the slipping of Carter's foot, Josef escaped death
at the price of a companion's life, behind whom Josef had escaped
Carter's vengeance. The American, hearing the suggestive thud in the
darkness, pushed his advantage, with the result that soon an angry snarl
told him that the second Russian was wounded. The fellow dropped his
sword to clasp his right wrist, then fled, closely followed by the
discreet servitor. When Calvert had recovered his balance, the Gray Man
had disappeared.

"There is no time to lose," he called to Trusia, "we must start at once
before that old rascal brings reinforcements." Though he jestingly
belittled its importance, she insisted upon bandaging the wound in his
shoulder and made much of him, womanlike.

"I do not care if they should send a dozen men," she said, dazzling the
gloom with h