The footsteps came nearer; the door was opened a few inches, and Luis, the valet, looked out. “Who knocks? What do you want?”
Joshua’s arm slid lovingly round his neck; the point of his dagger pricked the man’s throat. “Nay then, my cosset, no sound out of you, or you are sped,” he said softly.
The man’s eyes stared at him, his lips moved soundlessly.
“Truss him up,” said Sir Nicholas, and passed into the lodge.
There were candles in sconces upon the walls; the stairs ran up to one side, to the other a door opened hastily. Don Diego came out, a snatched-up sword in his hand, a look of quick alarm in his face. “Let none enter!” he said sharply, and then started back. “Jesu!” he gasped, blanched and shaking. His eyes were wide and staring, looking fearfully. In the doorway stood El Beauvallet, tall and straight, fiendishly smiling, like avenging doom wafted thither by most dreadful witchcraft.
The candlelight flickered along the blade of El Beauvallet’s sword. He held it between his hands, and bent the supple steel to a half-hoop. Don Diego’s fascinated eyes saw the white teeth gleam. “One has entered,” said Sir Nicholas. He came into the hall, purposeful, a stalking terror. “I have the honour of presenting myself to you, señor, in my true guise.” He stood in the middle of the hall now, feet wide planted. “I am El Beauvallet, Don Diego, and I come to seek a reckoning with you!” His voice rang out; his beard jutted dangerously.
Don Diego was backed against the wall. “Witchcraft! witchcraft!” he muttered, and the sword trembled in his hand.
The chin was upflung, the gay laugh rang amongst the rafters, “Ha, do you think so indeed, villain?” He let his blade straighten with a quivering snap, and shook it in Don Diego’s face. “Come, pigeon-livered hound! Here are no arts but my sword to yours. Or will you have me spit you where you cower? Come, choose quickly! Death waits for one of us twain tonight, and I am very sure it is not for me!”
Away up the stairs Dominica knelt behind a locked door with her ear pressed to the crack. She heard the ringing laugh, and it was as though joy flooded her whole being. For a moment the world stood still, then she sprang to her feet, beating on the door with her clenched fists. “Nicholas! Nicholas! I am here, locked in!” she shrieked.
He heard her voice and threw up his head. “Cheerly, my bird, cheerly!” he called. “I shall be with you in a little!”
She leaned against the door, sobbing and laughing at once. Might she not have known that he would come, and come in time, too!
Downstairs in the hall Don Diego had recovered from his first daze of horror. The colour came back into his cheeks. He tore his dagger from its sheath, and crouched, facing Beauvallet. “Dog of a pirate! You shall speed to hell this night!”
“After you, señor, after you!” said Sir Nicholas blithely, and caught the thrusting rapier point on his blade. There was a scuffle of daggers, steel clashed against steel, and Don Diego sprang back, disengaging over the arm.
Sir Nicholas drove him rigorously; they circled a little; there was a lunge, and a dexterous parry, the flash of an upthrust dagger, scurry of blades, and the quick shifting of light feet on the wooden floor.
Don Diego fought furiously, lips drawn back in a snarling grimace, brows close knit. He lunged forward to the heart, was parried by that lightning blade from the hand of Ferrara, and recovered his guard only just in time. Sir Nicholas was on his toes; the laugh was back in his eyes, and on his lips; larger issues were forgot in the present joy of battle. He had made no idle boast to his brother when he had said he was a master of the art of foining with the point. Don Diego had thought himself no mean swordsman, but he knew himself outmatched. This man, sprung on wires; this devil who laughed as he lunged, had a dashing skill that brought Diego face to face with death a dozen times. He was fighting for very life, and he had thought to run through his opponent almost at once.
“Laugh, laugh, dog!” he gasped, beating aside that flickering blade for an instant. “You shall laugh soon in hell!”
“Go warn them there of my coming, señor,” said Sir Nicholas gaily, and seemed to quicken.
The fight grew more desperate; Don Diego was losing ground, and knew it. It was all he could do to keep that dancing sword-point at bay, and ever he fell back before it. The point quivered to his throat; he sprang back, was forced on further still, hard-breathing, sweating, but fighting every inch of the way.
Faintly in the distance came the thud of galloping horses. Joshua’s voice called urgently: “Master, master, make an end!”
Don Diego thrust viciously to the heart. “You shall go hence—shackled!” he gasped.
The steel blades hissed together; one of them snaked out in a straight lunge, driven by a strong wrist. “My bite is sure!
” quoth Sir Nicholas, and wrenched his sword free of the deep wound.
Don Diego’s weapon fell clattering; he threw up his hands with a choking sound, and pitched forward on to his face.
The thud of the horses’ hooves was drawing nearer; Sir Nicholas was down on his knee, turning Don Diego over. The black eyes were glazing fast, but gleamed hatred still. Sir Nicholas felt in the elegant doublet, found the key he sought, and sprang up.
Joshua ran in. “Trapped, trapped!” he cried. “They are hard on us!”
“Round with you to the back!” Beauvallet answered instantly. “Wait beneath my lady’s window, and when I send her down to you, off with you!”
Joshua made a gesture of despair and ran out. Plainly to be heard now were the galloping hooves.
Sir Nicholas went
