By marvellous chance, I was master. The cravens would oppose me no more
than they dared attack Rupert. I had but to raise my revolver, and I
sent him to his account with his sins on his head. He did not so much as
know that I was there. I did nothing--why, I hardly know to this day.
I had killed one man stealthily that night, and another by luck rather
than skill--perhaps it was that. Again, villain as the man was, I did
not relish being one of a crowd against him--perhaps it was that. But
stronger than either of these restrained feelings came a curiosity and
a fascination which held me spellbound, watching for the outcome of the
scene.
"Michael, you dog! Michael! If you can stand, come on!" cried Rupert;
and he advanced a step, the group shrinking back a little before him.
"Michael, you bastard! Come on!"
The answer to his taunts came in the wild cry of a woman:
"He's dead! My God, he's dead!"
"Dead!" shouted Rupert. "I struck better than I knew!" and he laughed
triumphantly. Then he went on: "Down with your weapons there! I'm your
master now! Down with them, I say!"
I believe they would have obeyed, but as he spoke came new things.
First, there arose a distant sound, as of shouts and knockings from the
other side of the chateau. My heart leapt.
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