Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Novelists -- Fiction; Secretaries -- Fiction; Voyages and travels -- Fiction; West Indies -- Fiction
Perhaps he had a right to assume that air. I was not in a very
creditable position; but I did not think of this till afterward. He had
called me names, had threatened me with violence in the most
contemptuous manner. I sprang at his throat with my right hand extended
to grasp it and had I succeeded I fear his lease of life would have been
short. He was, however, too agile for me. Springing backward he drew a
revolver, and the sight of that steelly barrel with five cartridges
behind it stopped my headlong course like magic.
"Not quite so fast as you were, eh!" he said, between his teeth. "You
know a little joker when you see one. Now, turn your face the other way,
put your hands to your side like a whipped boy, and march to the end of
the corridor. I will follow you; and when I feel sure you are not up to
some scurvy trick--of which I quite believe you capable--I will let you
crawl to your room and continue the wonderful genealogy of the idiots
from whom you sprung."
I had thought rapidly since he first produced the weapon. I had no
anxiety to be murdered. He had the "drop" on me beyond question. My own
revolver was in the bottom of one of my trunks, not even loaded.
Discretion was the better part of valor then, if ever since the world
was made. Had he not uttered his closing sentence I would have submitted
to the humiliation he outlined. But I have a reverence for my ancestors
of the Camran race that amounts almost to worship. So far as I can learn
I am the only scion of the house who has lowered that distinguished
name. To have them dubbed "idiots" was more than I could bear, and I
would have died in their defense as cheerfully as any of the Alexanders
whose bones whitened the battle-fields of ancient days.
With a curse I again threw myself upon Edgerly and so quickly that he
had no time to discharge his weapon. We had a fierce struggle on the
floor of the hall, which I soon saw was going against me. Physically I
was still, with my long illness behind me, no match for my adversary. He
was much the cooler of the two and I knew that he was merely waiting
till he could get one hand free from my clasp to turn that revolver
against my body.
In fact, he had nearly succeeded in doing this. I saw a smile of
satisfaction creeping over his features and realized that nothing but a
miracle could save me. We had not made enough noise to attract attention
and no one happened to come along the corridor. The miracle arrived,
however, or I should in all probability not be writing these lines. I
heard a springing step behind me, saw a form bending over both of us
and a strong hand wrenching the pistol from Edgerly's grasp. Then a
voice that I recognized as that of Wesson said:
"Come, gentlemen, this is carrying your disagreements a little too far."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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