The duel began. The combatants were pretty evenly matched, and as the spectators watched thrust and parry, lunge and riposte, now cheering one, now the other, the air became charged with electric excitement. Right foot well forward, left arm well behind his head, Jack watched his opponent with the keenness of a hawk, and for a time seemed to content himself with standing on the defensive. He knew his man, and held himself in with the confident expectation that Pomeroy would by and by become reckless. "Two to one on Pomeroy!" shouted Dugdale, who was growing excited. "Done!" said Smith. "Name your stakes." "Anything you like; I’m not particular. I want a new pair of breeches. Yours won’t fit me, but mine’ll fit you with a little trimming’. Gad, Lumsden was nearly pinked that time. Make it two pairs!" "D’you mind moving aside?" said Shirley, who, being head and shoulders shorter than Dugdale, found his view obstructed by six feet two and a back broad in proportion. "Sorry; get on my back if you like," said Dugdale. "Won a bet by running a race with young Jukes of Pembroke on my back. I don’t mind." But Shirley contented himself with edging in to a place beside the big sportsman. The foils clashed; Pomeroy made a rapid lunge at Jack, who instantly straightened himself, and before his opponent could recover his guard, Jack’s foil was out, and slid along the other, and with a dexterous turn of the wrist he sent the weapon flying out of Pomeroy’s hand, over the ring of onlookers, to the other end of the room, where it clattered against the wall and fell with a clash to the floor. "Oh, come now! I never lose my wagers. I make a point of it," said Dugdale with a rueful look. "End of the first round; that’s Lumsden’s," said Smith quietly. "Five minutes’ rest, then to it again. Give you six to one next round." "No, thanks! I’ll wait a bit. Can’t afford to part with all my pants. What’s that?" Above the voices of the officers discussing the details of the match rose the clamour of a repeated battering on the door. "Oh, I say!" cried Dugdale, "we can’t have this interrupted. Is the door locked?" "Fast," replied Shirley, adding: "’And neither bolt nor bar shall keep My own true—love—from—’" The quotation remained unfinished, for Jack laid Shirley on his back and sat on him. The knock was repeated again and again, with increasing loudness; the door was rattled with ever-growing vehemence. "Set your back against the door, Giles," said Jack. "It’ll take some force to move your fourteen stone of muscle." The big Rifleman set his straight back against the door, planted his feet firmly on the floor so that his body formed an obtuse angle, and crossed his arms on his breast. The knocking continued. "Can’t come in," shouted a shrill-voiced ensign. "We’re busy." From outside an angry voice bawled in reply. "Be quiet, you fellows," cried Smith. "Let us hear who it is."