no
movement of any kind. The polite man came close to his side; Wogan let
him come. The polite man stretched out his left hand towards Wogan's
pocket. Wogan knocked the hand away, and the man's right arm swung
upwards from behind his back with a gleaming pistol in the hand. Wogan
was prepared for him; he had crossed his legs to be prepared, and as the
arm came round he kicked upwards from the knee. The toe of his heavy
boot caught the man upon the point of the elbow. His arm was flung up;
the pistol exploded and then dropped onto the floor. That assailant was
for the time out of action, but at the same moment the lackey came
running across the floor, his shoulders thrust forward, a knife in his
hand.

Wogan had just time to notice that the lackey's coat was open at his
breast. He stood up, leaned over the table, caught the lapels one in
each hand as the fellow rushed at him, and lifting the coat up off his
shoulders violently jammed it backwards down his arms as though he would
strip him of it. The lackey stood with his arms pinioned at his elbows
for a second. During that second Wogan drew his hunting knife from his
belt and drove it with a terrible strength into the man's chest.

"There's a New Year's gift for your mistress, the Countess of Berg,"
cried Wogan; and the lackey swung round with the force of the blow and
then hopped twice in a horrible fashion with his feet together across
the room as though returning to his place, and fell upon the floor,
where he lay twisting.

The polite man was nursing his elbow in a corner; there were three
others left,--the man with the cheery voice, who had no weapon but a
knobbed stick, and the companions on the settle. These two had swords
and had drawn them. They leaped over the lackey's body and rushed at
Wogan one a little in advance of the other. Wogan tilted the heavy table
and flung it over to make a barricade in front of him. It fell with a
crash, and the lower rim struck upon the instep of the leader and pinned
his foot. His companion drew back; he himself uttered a cry and wrenched
at his foot. Wogan with his left hand drew his sword from the scabbard,
and with the same movement passed it through his opponent's body. The
man stood swaying, pinned there by his foot and held erect. Then he made
one desperate lunge, fell forward across the barricade, and hung there.
Wogan parried the lunge; the sword fell from the man's hand and
clattered onto the floor within the barric