Detchard and the doctor were together in the middle of the room; and the doctor had flung himself on the murderer, pinning his hands to his sides for an instant.

Then Detchard wrenched himself free from the feeble grip, and, as I entered, drove his sword through the hapless man.

Then he turned on me, crying: "At last!" We were sword to sword.

By blessed chance, neither he nor Bersonin had been wearing their revolvers.

I found them afterwards, ready loaded, on the mantelpiece of the outer room: it was hard by the door, ready to their hands, but my sudden rush in had cut off access to them.