but it was fated that nick carter was not to proceed at once to the tower of the castle.
the distance from where he turned again toward the front of the building, to that part of it which might properly be called the tower, was some hundreds of feet, and he had gone not more than half the distance when, just as he was passing a door, it was opened suddenly and a man stepped out upon the corridor, confronting him.
it would be difficult to determine which of the two was the more greatly surprised by the encounter, but it was certainly the detective who recovered from it first.
the man who confronted him paused in amazement. then, when he perceived nick was a stranger, he opened his mouth to cry out something. but on that instant nick leaped forward. as he did so, the man started backward, with the cry still unuttered.
his step backward avoided the blow he would have received, but not all the consequences of it, for the detective, perceiving in time that his hand would fall short of reaching the fellow, altered his intention and turned his onslaught into a rush, so that his two hands fell upon the man’s chest, and he was thrown backward into the room where the detective followed him with a bound.
he closed the door almost with the same motion with which he had passed through it, and then, with his back[194] against it, calmly drew his revolver while the man was rising from the floor, where he had fallen.
“who the devil are you?” demanded the man, in french. “sacre, mon ami, but that is an odd way you have of making your presence known. and why, monsieur, do you make use of the revolver?”
“merely to convince you of the wisdom of preserving silence,” replied nick, smiling grimly.
“silence?” the frenchman chuckled audibly. “my dear sir, one might yell his lungs loose here, and not be heard inside an adjoining room. these walls were made to withstand sieges. and, besides, if i may venture to inquire, wherefore should i offer to cry out? eh?”
the frenchman had stepped back, and nick saw that he was evidently a character; and he realized, moreover, that the man had not the least idea that he himself was an intruder in the castle. then, as if to confirm him in that opinion, the man added:
“ha! i understand. i comprehend monsieur’s tendencies—his wish. it is to fight; no?”
the detective could not avoid a smile, but he made no other reply.
“ha! i have guessed it,” continued the frenchman, rubbing his hands together ecstatically. “it is to fight with me that monsieur comes here at this hour. monsieur is a guest of count jean. perhaps monsieur came to the château on board the yacht with the count. is it not so? yes? and the count has told monsieur about antoine lafetre. no? it is so; no? yes? and monsieur has not the belief that antoine is the greatest fencing-master[195] of the age. ha! monsieur has come to witness a proof of it, perhaps. believe me, monsieur shall be gratified. monsieur shall be convinced. yes!”
nick carter permitted him to run on without interruption, for the fellow’s prattle told him at once many things he desired to know, the most important of which was the fact that count jean de cadillac had in reality arrived at the château in the shadow and was now inside the castle.
it told him, also, that here before him was a conceited frenchman, by profession a fencing-master, who considered himself the “greatest that ever was.” a person who had not an idea beyond the horizon of his own egotism; but, above all, a person who, if nick could win his confidence, would impart all the information he possessed.
and so, without hesitation, he at once assumed the part for which the french fencing-master cast him. he shrugged his own shoulders in true french fashion, and having returned the revolver to the side pocket of his coat, he raised his eyes, turned out the palms of his hands and replied:
“yes. i have heard that you, monsieur antoine, have some idea of fence, but—parbleu!—it is nothing to what i can do. monsieur antoine has not the requisite strength of the wrist; not the quickness of the eye; not the nimbleness of the feet upon the floor; not the touch, the curve, the twist, the reach with the arm; not the——”
“so? is it so? does the monsieur believe what he says to be true? ha! it is a relish that you have brought to me, monsieur. i will instruct you in the fence; no?[196] yes! you shall see. will the monsieur be kind enough to step this way?”
this room, like the other which nick had seen, was large. it was evidently the home of the fencing-master, for the walls were covered with foils, swords, rapiers, broadswords, battle-axes, staves, dueling-pistols, masks, gauntlets, chest-shields, shoulder-pads—in short, everything was there which belonged to the arts of offense and defense with the blade.
at one end of the room was a raised section, which extended, perhaps, an inch above the surface of the floor, and this was filled with fine, white sand; and it was toward this spot that the frenchman conducted the detective.
“look,” said the fencing-master, pointing toward some hooks against the wall. “if monsieur will divest himself of his coat; so. ah! it is a pleasure, a relish that monsieur has brought to me. i will produce my most superb foils——”
“foils!” exclaimed nick, with some outward show of contempt. “rapiers, if you please. the foils are for children.”
“ha! it is magnificent! it is glorious! but we fence, then, not for death? no? for the little touch of the master; is it not so? yes? for the little twinge at the lobe of the ear; for the prick like a pin-point at the nipple of the breast. ha! grand! magnificent! monsieur has the true idea. foils are for children. the fence shall not be seriously to wound the opponent, then? no?[197] no! it shall be to draw the spot of blood, like the glow of a ruby, one, two, three times? yes! three times in succession. ha! if you do that, you shall be the victor. en garde, monsieur!”
while the frenchman was talking he was also preparing himself for the combat, and every nerve in his lithe body seemed to be alive with joy at the prospect. egotism is the first requisite for a fencing-master.
nick carter excelled in the art of fence, as he did in all other exercises of self-defense. in his youth his father had neglected none of these requirements in preparing the son for his career, and he was as perfect in the use of the foil, the rapier, the broadsword, the staves, and all weapons of the kind as he was with rifle or revolver. then, add to the perfection of science the wonderful strength which reposed in his muscles, and any fencer will tell you that nothing on earth should be able to defeat him.
and so the two faced each other, smiling; nick calm, confident, reposeful; the frenchman alert, eager, and thrilling with pleasure. it is no child’s play to fence with needle-pointed rapiers without delivering or receiving a serious wound, and only the most expert of fencers would dare to undertake it.
like all fencers, when they begin a combat, these two felt of one another’s strength of wrist, celerity of action, keenness of guard and thrust, and foot movement; and after a few parries the frenchman leaped back out of reach for a moment, while he lowered the point of his weapon and exclaimed:
[198]
“la, la! but it is magnificent. grande! glorious! monsieur is a foeman worthy to meet the best. he has the strength of wrist—ah! and the foot movement—yes! but i will show him that he has met one who is greater than he. en garde, monsieur!”
both had done the “feeling,” and they now went at the combat seriously; and nick, feeling that the time was, perhaps, short, if he was to accomplish all he wished to do that night, determined to win out as soon as possible.
he therefore attacked the frenchman like a cyclone. he seemed to cover himself with steel; his weapon glinted like a thousand gems through the air, darting in and out like flashes of lightning, forming a perfect shield around his head and breast, and, at the same time, dancing through the guard of his opponent with every thrust he made. and yet, for a long time he got no nearer to the master than that. the frenchman was really superb in the practise of his art. he was a master of it; but he was not a master of the man who stood in front of him like a granite pillar, suddenly infused with the animation of a spirit and the strength of a hercules.
after a few moments of this furious attack, nick saw that his opponent was giving ground. he realized that the pace was telling upon him, and that his own superior strength was overpowering his adversary.
the frenchman was rapidly tiring. once he leaped back to avoid a thrust, and would have called for a rest had not nick laughingly guyed him by asking calmly if he were tired.
[199]
lafetre was tired; but he would sooner have died then and there than to have confessed it, and he returned to the game with redoubled energy. but although the will was there, the steam to keep it going was not. his wrist was tired. the strength of nick’s arm had strained it more than he would have believed possible before “monsieur” entered the room so strangely.
then, suddenly, the detective discovered his opportunity. he stepped forward quickly, almost inside the frenchman’s guard; and then——
thrust, thrust—parry—thrust.
his weapon darted out like the tongue of a toad in three quick flashes of light. the first of these touched and half-pierced the frenchman’s right ear; the second performed the same service for the left one; the third pinked him on the breast, so that a little spot of blood, not larger than a pea, appeared suddenly upon the surface of the hitherto spotless linen.
and then, before the frenchman had time to utter a word, the detective turned his rapier in a circle, caught the other under the hand-guard and tore it from the fencing-master’s hand, so that in another instant it fell clattering at the opposite side of the room.
for a moment lafetre seemed utterly dazed by what had happened; and then, with a cry, he leaped forward, fell upon his knees at nick’s feet, and, seizing his hands in his own, kissed them rapturously.
“magnificent!” he cried. “never have i seen such fence! ah, monsieur, i am your slave henceforth. you[200] have the wrist of steel, the quickness of lightning, the eye of omnipotence. it is my first defeat, monsieur, but it is a victory even to have had the honor to fence with one so great. command me. i am your servant. your slave, from this hour.”
