“Pick it up,” said Mr. Rassendyll, never thinking there had been a trick. “Ay, and you’ll truss me while I do it.” “You young fool, don’t you know me yet?” and Rudolf, lowering his blade, rested its point on the floor, while with his left hand he indicated Rupert’s weapon. Yet something warned him: it may be there came a look in Rupert’s eyes, perhaps of scorn for his enemy’s simplicity, perhaps of pure triumph in the graceless knavery. Rudolf stood waiting. “You swear you won’t touch me while I pick it up?” asked Rupert, shrinking back a little, and thereby getting an inch or two nearer the mantelpiece. “You have my promise: pick it up. I won’t wait any longer.” “You won’t kill me unarmed?” cried Rupert, in alarmed scandalized expostulation. “No; but--” The speech went unfinished, unless a sudden cry were its ending. And, as he cried, Rudolf Rassendyll, dropping his sword on the ground, sprang forward. For Rupert’s hand had shot out behind him and was on the butt of one of the revolvers. The whole trick flashed on Rudolf, and he sprang, flinging his long arms round Rupert. But Rupert had the revolver in his hand. In all likelihood the two neither heard nor heeded, though it seemed to me that the creaks and groans of the old stairs were loud enough to wake the dead. For now Rosa had given the alarm, Bernenstein and I--or I and Bernenstein (for I was first, and, therefore, may put myself first)--had rushed up. Hard behind us came Rischenheim, and hot on his heels a score of fellows, pushing and shouldering and trampling. We in front had a fair start, and gained the stairs unimpeded; Rischenheim was caught up in the ruck and gulfed in the stormy, tossing group that struggled for first footing on the steps. Yet, soon they were after us, and we heard them reach the first landing as we sped up to the last. There was a confused din through all the house, and it seemed now to echo muffled and vague through the walls from the street without. I was conscious of it, although I paid no heed to anything but reaching the room where the king--where Rudolf--was. Now I was there, Bernenstein hanging to my heels. The door did not hold us a second. I was in, he after me. He slammed the door and set his back against it, just as the rush of feet flooded the highest flight of stairs. And at the moment a revolver shot rang clear and loud.