The man laughed. “Have you fetched down friend Michael and his angels to help you? By Saint John the Hunter, I would I had a rival. I would carve him prettily for the sake of your sweet flesh.”
Vernon kicked aside the screen. “You will have your chance,” he said. “I am ready.”
Vlastos stepped back with his hand at his belt. “Who in the devil’s name are you?” he asked.
“One who would dispute the lady with you,” said Vernon.
The man had recovered his confidence. “I know nothing of you or whence you come, but tonight I am merciful. I give you ten seconds to disappear. If not, I will spit you, my fine cock, and you will roast in this oven.”
“Nevertheless the lady goes with me,” said Vernon, smiling.
Vlastos plucked a whistle from his belt, but before it reached his mouth he was looking into the barrel of Vernon’s revolver. “Pitch that thing on the floor,” came the command. “Not there! Behind me! Off with that belt and give it to the lady. Quick, my friend.”
The dancing grey eyes dominated the sombre black ones. Vlastos flung down the whistle, and slowly removed the belt with its silver-mounted pistols and its brace of knives.
“Put up your weapon,” he muttered, “and fight me for her, as a man should.”
“I ask nothing better,” said Vernon, and he laid his revolver in the girl’s lap.
He had expected a fight with fists, and was not prepared for what followed. Vlastos sprang at him like a wild beast and clasped him round the waist. He was swung off his feet in a grip that seemed more than human. For a second or two he swayed to and fro, recovered himself, and by a back-heel stroke forced his assailant to relax a little. Then, locked together in the middle of the room, the struggle began. Dimly out of a corner of his eye he saw the girl pick up the silver lamp and stand by the door holding it high.
Vernon had learned the rudiments of wrestling among the dalesmen of the North, but now he was dealing with one who followed no ordinary methods. It was a contest of sheer physical power. Vlastos was a stone or two heavier, and had an uncommon length of arm; but he was clumsily made, and flabby from gross living. Vernon was spare and hard and clean, but he lacked one advantage—he had never striven with a man save in friendly games, and the other was bred to kill. For a minute or two they swayed and stumbled, while Vernon strove for the old Westmorland “inside click.” Every second brought him nearer to it, while the other’s face was pressed close to his shoulder.
Suddenly he felt a sharp pain. Teeth met in his flesh, and there was the jar and shiver of a torn muscle. The thing sickened him, and his grip slackened. In a moment Vlastos had swung him over in a stranglehold, and had his neck bent almost to breaking.
On the sickness followed a revulsion of fierce anger. He was contending not with a man, but with some shaggy beast from the thicket. The passion brought out the extra power which is dormant in us all against the last extremity. Two years before he had been mauled by a leopard on the Congo, and had clutched its throat with his hand and torn the life out. Such and no other was his antagonist. He was fighting with one who knew no code, and would gouge his eyes if he got the chance. The fear which had sickened him was driven out by fury. This wolf should go the way of other wolves who dared to strive with man.
By a mighty effort he got his right arm free, and though his own neck was in torture, he forced Vlastos’ chin upward. It was a struggle of sheer endurance, till with a snarl the other slackened his pressure. Vernon slipped from his grasp, gave back a step, and then leaped for the under-grip. He seemed possessed with unholy strength, for the barrel of the man gave in his embrace. A rib cracked, and as they swayed to the breaststroke, he felt the breath of his opponent coming in harsh gasps. It was the end, for with a twist which unlocked his arms he swung him high, and hurled him towards the fireplace. The head crashed on the stone hearth, and the man lay stunned among the blue jets of wood-smoke.
Vernon turned dizzily to the girl. She stood, statue-like, with the lamp in her hand, and beside her huddled Mitri and Elise.
“Bring ropes,” he cried to the servants. “We will truss up this beast. The other wolves will find him and learn a lesson.” He bound his legs and arms and laid him on a divan.
The fire of battle was still in his eyes, but it faded when they fell upon the pale girl. A great pity and tenderness filled him. She swayed to his arms, and her head dropped on his shoulder. He picked her up like a child, and followed the servants to the sea-stair.
But first he found Vlastos’ whistle, and blew it shrilly. The answer was a furious hammering at the castle door.
Far out at sea, in the small hours, the yacht sped eastward with a favouring wind. Behind in the vault of night at a great distance shone a point of brightness, which flickered and fell as if from some mighty fire.
The two sat in the stern in that first rapture of comradeship which has no words to fit it. Her head lay in the crook of his arm, and she sighed happily, like one awakened to a summer’s dawn from a night of ill dreams. At last he spoke.
“Do you know that I have been looking for you for twenty years?”
She nestled closer to him.
“And I,” she said, “have been waiting on you from the beginning of the world.”
