"Spring grabbed it and jerked—and the cane came away in his hand, leaving the Frog holding two feet of naked, glittering steel, which he flourished feebly with Gallic squeals. Poor fool, there was a sudden flurry, the snap of a breaking bone, the Frog was screaming on the floor, and Spring had the sword-stick in his hand. I heard Omohundro's shout as he flung himself at Spring, hauling a pistol from beneath his coat; Spring leaped to meet him, bawling 'Habet!'—and, by God, he had. Before my horrified gaze Omohundro was swaying on tiptoe, staring down at that awful steel that transfixed him; he flopped to his knees, the pistol clattering to the floor, and fell forward on his face with a dreadful groan.
"There was a dead silence, broken only by the scraping of Omohundro's nails at the boards—and presently...