Chapter X: Part 10

"That will not serve you, sir. I am your man."

Even in the moonlight they could see De Rothan's sneer.

"No doubt Mr. Benham is nervous----"

Jasper was standing by with white face and set jaw. But Jeremy had seen through De Rothan's cunning, nor did he mean to let the Frenchman sneer Jasper into fighting him.

"Enough of that. Off with your coat."

He caught his sword from Stott, and sprang forward toward De Rothan. There was to be no prevarication, no escape. De Rothan looked into Jeremy's eyes, threw his coat aside, and drew his sword.

"Come, my little fellow!"

Their swords touched, and they were at it.

De Rothan was one of those long-armed, florid fighters, passionate and skilful, whose very fierceness had flustered many a weaker man. He began swaggeringly, to discover in the course of the first few passes with what a grim master of sword craft he had to deal. This little, hard-mouthed man was steady as a rock. He put De Rothan's savage and murderous thrusts aside with an imperturbable confidence that was pleasant to behold. Those who watched seemed to have no fear for Jeremy. Stott took snuff with placid satisfaction. There were no sounds but the tingling of the sword blades and the shuffling of the men's feet.

De Rothan became cautious of a sudden, and his forehead showed lines of strain. Jeremy's eyes were not pleasant eyes to watch. The man was untouchable and most damnably cool.

"Tsst--one for you----"

"No--but for you."

With one quick thrust Jeremy pricked De Rothan's forehead, and a red mark showed between the brows. The savage egotism of the man seemed to flare up in fury. He leapt back, brushed the blood aside, and then sprang at Jeremy with a passionate desire to kill.

These fierce, passionate thrusts were his last. There was a flickering of the blades in the moonlight, and then Jeremy's point went home. The thrust had all the weight of his body behind it. De Rothan threw up his arms, seemed to break at the middle, and fell forward on his face.

For a moment there was silence. No one moved, no one spoke. Then Jeremy pulled up a tuft of grass and calmly wiped his sword.

"What's your verdict, Stott?"

The surgeon and Steyning turned De Rothan over. His eyelids twitched, but that was all. They saw that he was dead.

"Right through the heart, sir."

"The price he played for. Jasper, lad, shake hands."

All four drew together, talking in undertones. Then Steyning marched off along the beach in the direction of his men. He passed Parsloe and Nance with a nod, but he did not speak to them.

There were pieces of driftwood lying along the shingle. Steyning told two of the men to pick up pieces, and to follow him back along the shore. Here, close to where De Rothan lay, they began to scrape a shallow grave in the shingle above high-water mark. When the grave was ready they lifted De Rothan into it, covered him with shingle, and set up a piece of driftwood to mark the place.

There was a short silence. The men loitered, saying nothing, and looking at Winter and Jasper Benham. Surgeon Stott was the first to speak.

"What about the three fellows yonder?"

"Poor devils! Lewes gaol or Rye Harbour? What do you say, Jasper?"

"Let them go."

"Good. That's what was in my heart."

They moved away from the place where De Rothan lay buried and Jasper found himself alone with Nance. The moonlight was on the sea, and the waves washed the shingle. The man and the girl held together, as though they desired to be very close to one another after what had passed.

"It is finished, Nance."

She shivered slightly.

"How lonely it must be--there!"

"Dear heart, I cannot quarrel with the end."

She clung close to him, and her brown eyes filled with tears.