here
lay the revolvers. The time to think of risks was gone by; the time to
boggle over what honor allowed or forbade had never come to Rupert of
Hentzau. If he could not win by force and skill, he would win by guile
and by treachery, to the test that he had himself invited. The revolvers
lay on the mantelpiece: he meant to possess himself of one, if he could
gain an instant in which to snatch it.

The device that he adopted was nicely chosen. It was too late to call
a rest or ask breathing space: Mr. Rassendyll was not blind to the
advantage he had won, and chivalry would have turned to folly had it
allowed such indulgence. Rupert was hard by the mantelpiece now. The
sweat was pouring from his face, and his breast seemed like to burst in
the effort after breath; yet he had enough strength for his purpose. He
must have slackened his hold on his weapon, for when Rudolf's blade next
struck it, it flew from his hand, twirled out of a nerveless grasp, and
slid along the floor. Rupert stood disarmed, and Rudolf motionless.

"Pick it up," said Mr. Rassendyll, never thinking there had been a
trick.

"Ay, and you'll truss me while I do it."

"You young fool, don't you know me yet?" and Rudolf, lowering his blade,
rested 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 scandalized
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 Rosa had given the alarm, Bernenstein and I--or I and
Bernenstein (for I was first, and, therefore, may put myse