It would explain the failure of his
bravo's dagger. More than that I did not care for. Doubtless, he was
wearing one himself at that very moment. One usually ascribes to his
enemy methods similar to one's own--and, as Lotzen dealt in
assassination, he would expect me to do the same.
I waited a moment. Then, stepping quickly out of reach, I drew my own
sword.
"Here it is, my Lord," I said. "Which end will you take?"
"The only end that you can give me, monsieur--the hilt," was the answer.
"Come and get it, then," I drawled.
He turned to the Gypsy.
"Will mademoiselle pardon me," he said.
"Will you be long?" she asked.
"Only a moment. I'll make it very short."
"I'll wait," she said carelessly.
He bowed to her--and then faced me.
"Has Monsieur le Coquin any particular spot in which he prefers to
receive my point?" he asked.
"None, my Lord," I answered; "I shall leave that to your own good
taste."
"_Merci_, monsieur, _merci_!" he said, and saluted. "Yet, I may not be
outdone in generosity. Therefore, in exchange for your hilt, monsieur,
you shall have the whole length of my blade in your heart."
"That, my Lord, is on the Knees of the Gods," I said.
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