I should counsel you to abstain from more, since you will need all your

wits and skill to hold your own against my death -thrusts. Swill if you

will, swine, and then join blades again. Tony, will you oblige me by

moving that pistol-case to the far end of the room behind my back?”

“You think I would take an ill advantage of you?” snarled the Squire.

“Think?” re-echoed Doctor Syn. “I know. I take no foolish chances

with a liar and a cheat. Come, sir, drink if you must, and let us be

done with it once and for all.”

- 40 -

Fooli shly the Squire drank straight from the bottle’s neck till it

was done.

Dr. Syn watched him and said aloud, “You fool! that last drink has

delivered you into my hands. But do me the grace to own I warned you.

Come sir. Defend yourself as best as you can.”

This time the Squire selected another blade of longer reach, to which

Cobtree objected, but Doctor Syn waved him aside and touched blades in

warning.

Furiously the Squire attacked, and as the minutes sped to the ring of

steel his fury increased, because he found in the young parson a

swordsman the like of which he had never met before. Their methods were

different, for the Squire fought with a dashing ferocity, showing a

lithe agility remarkable in a man of such heavy bulk. But the parson

met each fiery attack with a rock-like defense, and although retreating

slowly before the licking steel, he seemed to do so with cool

deliberation. Right down the room, the Squire like a fierce whirlwind

drove him, till at last the parson felt the paneling touch his back.

With a hideous misgiving for this friend’s safety, Cobtree cried out,

“Attack!”

It was then that Syn smiled and shook his head, while the Squire

doubled the speed of his attack, determined to keep his opponent pinned

against the wall until he could break through his defense. The Squire

had now the advantage of the lights behind him, and this he meant to

keep until he could deliver the death-thrust. But he same thought was in

the mind of Doctor Syn, and despite the rapidity of the licking thrusts,

his voice rose above the continual clash and slithers of the steel.

Calmly he said, “I think we will get back into the light again.”

With the same deliberation that he had used in his retreat, He now as

calmly advanced, slowly but surely, foot by foot.

To Cobtree’s practiced eye it now seemed as though the Squire was

rebounding from the heavy impact of his own attacks, for though the

parson steadily advanced with an uncanny assurance, he still fought only

on defense, checking each lightning lunge with his impregnable barrier

of steel.

The Squire’s livid face began to change from red rage to an almost

childlike bewilderment. In his vast experience of fighting he had never

met a man like this with no attack. If only he could snatch a rest in

his own defense, and let the other fight, he felt that he would sooner

or later get the opening he needed. Instead of which the remorseless

steel against him continued to advance with an unbreakable defense.

Already they were past the lights, to Doctor Syn’s advantage, and the

Squire’s breathing came in short gasps. Still Syn advanced, pressing

his defense upon the elder man. The fumes of wine which had helped the

Squire in his first dashes now began to hinder him. His eyes bleared

and troubled him as tears of exhausted rage collected in the rims and

gave a misty view. Syn’s coolness and courage were demoralizing. Apart

from that implacable sword advancing so remorselessly, there was that in

the parson’s eye which drove him back.

“I rather think this is your last fight, sir,” said Syn quietly.

How could the fellow fight and talk so calmly? wondered the Squire.

The parson’s words had pierced his cowardly heart, for he felt a cold

sweat of fear flowing from it to his veins. He knew that his strength

was snapping beneath the strain. He thought of his loaded pistols in the

case. They were far down the room where Cobtree had placed them. In an

endeavor to reach them he tried to turn and so reverse positions. This

Syn resisted, for he did not mea n to lose the advantage of the light.

Also he had a wish to drive his

- 41 -

opponent’s back against the paneling, as his had been. So doggedly, he

prevented the Squire from turning, and doggedly he drove him farther up

the room.

The Squire’s condition was now deplorable. Sweat poured from his

forehead, and his eyes were full of tears, so that he had to jerk his

head sharply to be rid of them. And so, baffled and weary, he was driven

back. At last he touched the paneling, and knowing he was beate n, cried

out in a sob of rage, “Will nothing make you fight, man?”

“I rather thought we had been fighting all this while,” replied the

Doctor.

With his back to the wall, the Squire fought wildly, and with a last

despairing effort tried to break the other’s guard.

“Attack him now! cried Cobtree. “You have him at your mercy.”

“Which I will show up to a point,” replied Syn, doggedly defending.

“I do not wish to kill him suddenly. His soul is in bad case, and I

would give him time to repent upon his death -bed. Bring me more light,

here, Tony, and I will do it skillfully.”

Before Cobtree could pick up one of the heavy candelabras, the

Squire, with his last ounce of strength, attacked again. Syn guarded

himself with the same persistence he had used throughout, and then, as

the wavering candlelight flickered towards them, he suddenly changed his

tactics and attacked with the same lightning fury as the Squire had

done.

Now, whether what followed happened through a cunning design of the

Squire’s who at least knew that he could depend upon the honour of the

parson, or from the superior skill of Doctor Syn, but ere Tony could

reach them with the lights the Squire’s sword shot high over Doctor

Syn’s head and fell with a clatter on the floor behind h im.

“You have him now!” cried Tony.

The Squire crouched panting against the paneling, breathing hard.

Doctor Syn retreated slowly, facing the Squire, until he passed the

fallen sword.

Then, with a superb gesture of command, he pointed to it with his own

weapon and said, “Pick it up.”

“And you’ll spit me as I do it,” snarled the Squire ungenerously.

“Had that been my way, I could have done it easier three seconds ago,”

replied the Doctor.

To gain time and recover his gasping breath, the Squire slowly

straightened himself, wiped the sweat from his brow, and then advanced

towards his sword with weary steps.

“Make haste sir,” cried Syn, “lest my patience snap. But I have no

interest to kill a man unarmed.”

Since everyone’s eyes were up on him, no one saw or heard the secret

panel behind the Squire’s back slide open. It was Syn who first saw the

farmer standing there. The Squire was about to pick up his sword when

the parson said, “For heaven’s sake, look behind you!”

“Another trick to catch me unawares?” sneered the Squire.

“I have never tricked you,” replied Syn. “I have fought fair. But

it seems that other hands than mine must kill you.”

The Squire realized that all eyes were upon something behind his

back, and so he slowly turned.

A bewildered look came over the Squire’s face as he tried to

recollect where he had seen this man before who now faced him with a

leveled pistol in his hand and grim, determined hate upon his face. He