Part 12 (2/2)

”That is my question.”

”Do you admit the charges?”

”I am too much of a gentleman to deny them: they are so gross.”

”Oh, you intend to get out of it that way, eh? Now who are you?”

As Girard spoke he rose from the table and presented a pistol directly at our hero's forehead. Oscar did not flinch, but asked:

”Do you intend to murder me?”

The detective was in the worst dilemma of his whole career. He knew the men were playing a game, that the chances were all against him, and that the possibilities were that under one pretext or another they intended to kill him.

”No, I don't intend to murder you. I am no murderer, but I do not intend to let you get away with any sneaking purpose you may have had in working your way into this house. Are you a gentleman?”

”Yes, I am a gentleman.”

”Then you shall have a chance. I challenge you; yes, sir, you must fight me.”

”This is murder,” said Oscar.

Our hero believed his last moment had arrived. He had braved fate too far in his enthusiasm. He had walked into a trap from which there was no escape. The duel which had been proposed he knew would only be a pretense in order to murder him. He knew he had walked right into a trap, but he determined to die game. Yes, even at that moment he did not wholly despair. These men did not know his mettle, and could he once get a weapon in his hands he would make a desperate fight. He was armed, but thought that possibly the men might go through the farce of a duel. This would give him a chance. He had his club and he knew he must take them by a grand dash, a magnificent surprise. He had encountered as many men on several occasions in desperate conflict, but these men had the ”bulge” on him. They were prepared and on the alert. The chances were that every man was well armed and ready to ”pull.” He must get a vantage ground from where he could take them by surprise--throw them off their guard; but even then the chances were against him, for these were no ordinary men. They were a lot of cool, nervy criminals, well prepared, as stated--men who had their plans well arranged, their signals also.

Possibly each man had his appointed work. They were men who could and would carry out their orders. It was a desperate moment, and all the chances were against him.

It was at this most critical moment that an extraordinary incident occurred. Oscar saw but little chance; still, as intimated, he was determined to make a desperate fight even in face of the odds against him, and there he sat revolving the matter in his mind when suddenly there sounded a little tick-tick like the tick-tick of a telegraph machine. The men did not notice the tick-tick, it was so low and sounded like the involuntary cracking that is sometimes heard from dried furniture when a fire is first ignited in a room. To our hero, though, this very singular tick-tick came with a wonderful significance; indeed, to him it was a language. It was a telegraphic message, and he knew that he was all right. Indeed, he received full instructions as to what he might expect; he learned when and how he was to give a signal at the extreme moment when he needed help. We will not at present attempt to describe his surprise and his admiration of the faithful one who like his shadow must have followed on his track to do the succor act when succor was needed. Oscar did not change his demeanor. He acted as though he still feared the terrible ordeal which confronted him.

”You must fight me,” said Girard, ”and I show you great mercy in giving you a chance for your life.”

”Why must I fight you?”

”You are a sneak. You have imposed upon my confidence. You have forced your way into my rooms, having in mind a treacherous purpose.”

”I did not seek you. No, sir, you sought me; you invited me here. I declined to come. You forced yourself upon me. I did not force myself in here.”

”I thought you were a gentleman.”

”I am a gentleman.”

”You must fight me all the same.”

”I can see,” said Oscar, ”you men are a gang of confidence men--robbers.

You have inveigled me here to rob me. I will not be robbed. I will yell for the police.”

One of the men aimed a revolver at our hero and said:

”Open your mouth to utter one cry and you are a dead man.”

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