There were candles in sconces upon the walls; the stairs ran up to one side, to the other a door opened hastily. Don Diego came out, a snatched-up sword in his hand, a look of quick alarm in his face. "Let none enter!" he said sharply, and then started back. "Jesu!" he gasped, blanched and shaking. His eyes were wide and staring, looking fearfully. In the doorway stood El Beauvallet, tall and straight, fiendishly smiling, like avenging doom wafted thither by most dreadful witchcraft. The candlelight flickered along the blade of El Beauvallet's sword. He held it between his hands, and bent the supple steel to a half-hoop. Don Diego's fascinated eyes saw the white teeth gleam. "One has entered," said Sir Nicholas. He came into the hall, purposeful, a stalking terror. "I have the honour of presenting myself to you, señor, in my true guise." He stood in the middle of the hall now, feet wide planted. "I am El Beauvallet, Don Diego, and I come to seek a reckoning with you!" His voice rang out; his beard jutted dangerously. Don Diego was backed against the wall. "Witchcraft! witchcraft!" he muttered, and the sword trembled in his hand. The chin was upflung, the gay laugh rang amongst the rafters, "Ha, do you think so indeed, villain?" He let his blade straighten with a quivering snap, and shook it in Don Diego's face. "Come, pigeon-livered hound! Here are no arts but my sword to yours. Or will you have me spit you where you cower? Come, choose quickly! Death waits for one of us twain to-night, and I am very sure it is not for me!" Away up the stairs Dominica knelt behind a locked door with her ear pressed to the crack. She heard the ringing laugh, and it was as though joy flooded her whole being. For a moment the world stood still, then she sprang to her feet, beating on the door with her clenched fists. "Nicholas! Nicholas! I am here, locked in!" she shrieked. He heard her voice and threw up his head. "Cheerly, my bird, cheerly!" he called. "I shall be with you in a little!" She leaned against the door, sobbing and laughing at once. Might she not have known that he would come, and come in time, too! Downstairs in the hall Don Diego had recovered from his first daze of horror. The colour came back into his cheeks. He tore his dagger from its sheath, and crouched, facing Beauvallet. "Dog of a pirate! You shall speed to hell this night!" "After you, señor, after you!" said Sir Nicholas blithely, and caught the thrusting rapier point on his blade. There was a scuffle of daggers, steel clashed against steel, and Don Diego sprang back, disengaging over the arm. Sir Nicholas drove him rigorously; they circled a little; there was a lunge, and a dexterous parry, the flash of an upthrust dagger, scurry of blades, and the quick shifting of light feet on the wooden floor.