And now across the oblong patch of moonlight that lay on the stone
floor between me and the maniac appeared some dark shadows, and,
turning towards the casement to ascertain the cause, the artist beheld
human faces peering in through the diamond-shaped panes. A moment more
and there came a great shivering and shattering of glass. The cold
night air swept with a rush through the broken panes, bringing with it
the wild crash of the Christmas bells, a tumult of voices, and Daphne's
thrilling scream.
Peril makes some men mad. It made Angelo sane. He realised the
situation--realised that his hated rival was slipping from his power;
but the knowledge of this fact only made him more desperate.
"Damn you! you shall not escape!" he cried fiercely. "I'll have your
life, though I die the next moment for it!"
With the dagger gleaming aloft, he darted on me. Measuring him with my
eye, I swung the chair round, and tried to bring it down on his head,
but he eluded the blow by springing deftly to one side.
The robe of tragedy is often sewn with the threads of comedy. The chair
intended for the artist lighted instead on his unfinished picture, and
went sheer through the canvas, overturning the easel, and inflicting
more damage to the painted Colosseum in two seconds than old Time has
been able to inflict on the solid original in well-nigh two millenniums.
"My picture! Oh, my picture!" cried the artist. "You have destroyed it!"
Petrified with dismay, he gazed on the ruins of his work of art,
oblivious for the moment of everything else. Taking advantage of his
surprise, I sprang forward, and seized him by the throat with such
force and energy that he toppled backwards, and measured his length on
the floor of the cell. I fell with him.
"That's it! Bravo! Hold him down!" cried a voice, which I recognised as
the Baronet's. "We'll be with you in an instant."
Sir Hugh, my uncle, and some others were standing on the window-ledge,
striving to effect an entrance by forcing asunder the slender
cross-bars of the casement.
The artist lay extended on the floor of the cell. My knee was on his
chest, and with one hand I grasped him by the throat, and with the
other pinioned to the floor his hand that held the dagger. I tried to
keep him in this position till aid should come, but with a strength
almost superhuman he rose to his feet, dragging me with him, and,
grappling with each other, we swayed backwards and forwards in the
moonlit cell.
"I always hated you," he gasped. "But for you I might have won the love
of Daphne. You shall not escape me!"
He made frantic efforts to reach me with the dagger, but I clung
heavily to the arm that held it, impeding his power of action. At
length with a sudden effort of strength he flung me off, but as he did
so the cross-bars of the casement gave way, and three human bodies
were projected through it in a most ungraceful fashion, and fell on
all-fours to the floor.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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