nd down went the man outstretched at full length
on the floor, his shield and sword giving forth a muffled clang as they
crossed upon the soft carpet.

Quick as a cat Coleman leaped forward and picked up the sword, a
beautiful rapier, and, assuming a defensive attitude, cried out boldly:

"Come one at a time and I will fight you all!"

The fantastic figures looked at one another with evident questioning,
though not a word was said.

Meantime the fallen one scrambled to his feet and swore two or three
bitter French oaths. The leader rebuked him with gestures.

"Come one at a time, you cowardly villains," repeated Coleman, "and I'll
soon finish you all. Come on, the first one, if you dare meet a man!"

He was terribly angry, but his voice was steady and even.

There was a space of silence. Then the leader said something to one of
the men, who immediately cast aside his shield and advanced with his
rapier.

It was a short conflict. Coleman disarmed his antagonist with ease in
less than a minute.

Another man came on and shared the same fate, with the addition of a
prick through the wrist of the sword-arm.

This was exhilarating to Coleman in his exasperation at being made the
butt of some mysterious trick.

"Come next," he cried; "I want the best of you--and the best is a
coward. Come on!"

Evidently the mystic band now felt the gravity that the occasion was
assuming. The maskers looked to their leader.

"Don't stand there afraid," sneered Coleman; "come on and get your turn.
Who's next?"

One after another responded, only to fare badly. As yet, however, all
had escaped without deadly hurt, when the leader himself made ready to
fight. Those who had come to grief were quietly cared for by others, and
all seemed to treat the proceedings as by no means startling or even
unusual.

When the leader threw aside his shield and took off his tall
plume-covered hat, Coleman was able to recognize Judge Favart de
Caumartin, more by his form and bearing than by any disclosure of his
features.

As the Judge handled his rapier, all the company of maskers, even the
sorely-wounded ones, came forward to look on with eager expectation. His
was steel that never yet had failed to find the vitals of his opponent.
But, on the other hand, there stood Coleman, steadfast and alert, the
very picture of strength and will, and the embodiment of quickness and
certainty, his sword bearing at its point a tiny red clot of blood.

The