The onslaught was so sudden, so powerless to avert, that it seemed like a visitation of wrath from above.

She stared, wide-eyed and unbelieving, upon the brief tragedy; she saw her tormentor hurled viciously toward the gates and then, with new alarm, saw him pick himself up from the ground, writhing with pain and anger.

His sword flashed from its scabbard as, with a scream of rage, he dashed upon the tall intruder.

She saw Chase--even in the shadows she knew him to be the American--she saw Chase lightly leap aside, avoiding the thrust for his heart.

Then, as if he were playing with a child, he wrested the weapon from the conductor's hand, snapped the blade in two pieces and threw them off into the bushes.
"Skip!" was his only word.