Desmond saw that the turn of fortune had given the opportunity to him.  He sprang forward as Diggle tried to recover his sword; Diggle gave way:  and before he could lift his dripping weapon to parry the stroke, Desmond’s blade was through his forearm.  Panting with rage, he sought with his left hand to draw his pistol; but Desmond was beforehand with him.  He caught his arm, wrenched the pistol from him, and, breathless with his exertions, said: 

“You are my prisoner.”

“’Tis fate, my young friend,” said Diggle, with all his old blandness; Desmond never ceased to be amazed at the self command of this extraordinary man.  “I have let some blood, I perceive; my sword arm is for the time disabled; but my great regret at this moment—­you will understand the feeling—­is that this gallant friend of yours lies low with the wound intended for another.  So Antores received in his flank the lance hurled at Lausus:  infelix alieno volnere.”

“I dare say, Mr. Diggle,” interrupted Desmond, “but I have no time to construe Latin.”

Covering Diggle with his pistol, Desmond stooped over Fuzl Khan’s prostrate body and discovered in a moment that the poor fellow’s heart had ceased to beat.  He rose, and added:  “I must trouble you to come with me; and quickly, for you perceive you are at my mercy.”

“Where do you propose to take me, my friend?”

“We will go this way, and please step out.”

Diggle scowled, and stood as though meditating resistance.

“Come, come, Mr. Diggle, you have no choice.  I do not wish to have to drag you; it might cause you pain.”

“Surely you will spare a moment to an old friend!  I fear you are entirely mistaken.  ’Tis pity that with the natural ebullition of your youthful spirit you should have set upon a man whom—­”

“You can talk as we go, Mr. Diggle, if you talk low enough.  Must I repeat it?”

“But where are we going?  Really, Mr. Burke, respect for my years should prompt a more considerate treatment.”

“You see yonder point?” said Desmond impatiently; “yonder on the shore.  You will come with me there.”

Diggle looked around as if hoping that even now something might happen in his favor.  But no one was in sight; Desmond stood over him with sword still drawn; and recognizing his helplessness the man at length turned towards the shore and began to walk slowly along, Desmond a foot or so in the rear.

“’Twas a most strange chance, surely,” he said, “that brought you to this spot at the very moment when I was shaking the dust of Gheria from my feet.  How impossible it is to escape the penalty of one’s wrongdoing!  Old Horace knew it:  Raro antecedentem scelestum—­you remember the rest.  Mr. Burslem drubbed our Latin into us, Mr. Burke.  I am a fellow townsman of yours, though you did not know it:  aye, a boy in your old school, switched by your old master.  I have treated you badly.  I admit it; but what could