then, his breath coming in great, sobbing gasps.

Baron Morriere had lurched to his feet. His right hand gripped a sword,
his left a dagger.

"You'll die yet, you dog!" he snarled. "I'll spit you on my sword like a
pig above a bed of coals!"

The flames of the pit showed in Mark's eyes.

"And I'll see _you_ in hell," he grated.

With a curse of contempt, the baron charged.

Mark sprang aside.

Again the other rushed to the attack.

Once more Mark dodged. But now desperation gleamed in his eyes. He was
unarmed, helpless. One slip, one misstep, and that cruel blade would pin
him to the wall!

Another rush. Another escape. But this time the blade had come close.
Mark's shirt was ripped; his shoulder bleeding from a long scratch.

Even worse: from the end of the room came the sound of splintering wood
as the guardsmen smashed in the panels of the door. A moment more and
they would be upon him!

Again the deadly play of wits. And then, suddenly, Mark found himself
penned in a corner. Trapped. The baron faced him, panting, his face
alight with evil joy. And beyond the noble, on her bed of straw, Elaine
Duchard stared at her lover with horror-straught eyes.

"Die, you dog!"

The baron lunged. His gleaming sword stabbed for Mark's vitals. The
unarmed man's teeth clenched to the take the fatal blow.

It never came!

One moment the baron was charging. The next, falling.

"Elaine!"

For the girl's white body was sprawled across the floor. Her thin hands
still clutched the baron's ankle.

The next instant her lover was at the noble's throat. His fists beat a
tattoo of mayhem on the other's face. Forced him back against a
window-sill. Beat him to a senseless, bleeding pulp.

"Jacques!"

He whirled. Saw the door at the far end of the room buckle and give way.

With one sweep of his arms, he sent the baron's body toppling through
the window. Falling down ... down ... down, to death on the stone-slab
walk three stories below.

Even as he did it, Mark was leaping toward Elaine. He caught her in his
arms and lunged for the room's second door. He made it bare inches ahead
of the guardsmen's swords.

This door was lighter. Already it rattled under the blows of the baron's
men.

"Let me die, Jacques!" Elaine whispered. "I know I am going. You need
not try to save me."

"Don't say it!" Mark's voice was a jagged knife of command. "You can't
die now. Don't say it!"

* * * * *