's sword was flashing in and
out against his unprotected body, inflicting painful little jabs,
and the boy's tongue was murmuring low-toned taunts and insults as it
invited him to draw and defend himself or be stuck "like the English pig
you are."

Paul of Merely was a brave man and he liked not the idea of drawing
against this stripling, but he argued that he could quickly disarm him
without harming the lad, and he certainly did not care to be further
humiliated before his comrades.

But when he had drawn and engaged his youthful antagonist, he discovered
that, far from disarming him, he would have the devil's own job of it to
keep from being killed.

Never in all his long years of fighting had he faced such an agile and
dexterous enemy, and as they backed this way and that about the room,
great beads of sweat stood upon the brow of Paul of Merely, for he
realized that he was fighting for his life against a superior swordsman.

The loud laughter of Beauchamp and Greystoke soon subsided to grim
smiles, and presently they looked on with startled faces in which fear
and apprehension were dominant.

The boy was fighting as a cat might play with a mouse. No sign of
exertion was apparent, and his haughty confident smile told louder than
words that he had in no sense let himself out to his full capacity.

Around and around the room they circled, the boy always advancing, Paul
of Merely always retreating. The din of their clashing swords and the
heavy breathing of the older man were the only sounds, except as they
brushed against a bench or a table.

Paul of Merely was a brave man, but he shuddered at the thought of dying
uselessly at the hands of a mere boy. He would not call upon his friends
for aid, but presently, to his relief, Beauchamp sprang between them
with drawn sword, crying "Enough, gentlemen, enough! You have no
quarrel. Sheathe your swords."

But the boy's only response was, "En garde, cochon," and Beauchamp found
himself taking the center of the stage in the place of his friend. Nor
did the boy neglect Paul of Merely, but engaged them both in swordplay
that caused the eyes of Greystoke to bulge from their sockets.

So swiftly moved his flying blade that half the time it was a sheet of
gleaming light, and now he was driving home his thrusts and the smile
had frozen upon his lips--grim and stern.

Paul of Merely and Beauchamp were wounded in a dozen places when
Greystoke rushed to their aid, and then i