Tavernake, in those few moments, was like a giant among a company
of degenerates. He was strong, his muscles were like whipcord,
and his condition was perfect. Walter Crease went over like a
log before his fist; Major Post felt the revolver at which he had
snatched struck from his hand, and he himself remembered nothing
more till he came to his senses some time afterwards. A slash
and a cut and Pritchard was free. The professor stood wringing
his hands. Elizabeth had risen to her feet. She was pale, but
she was still more nearly composed than any other person in the
room. Tavernake and Pritchard were masters of the situation.
Pritchard leaned toward the mirror and straightened his tie.
"I am afraid," he said looking down at Walter Crease's groaning
figure, "that our hosts are scarcely in fit condition to take
leave of us. Never mind, Mrs. Gardner, we excuse ourselves to
you. I cannot pretend to be sorry that my friend's somewhat
impetuous entrance has disturbed your plans for the evening, but
I do hope that you will realize now the fatuousness of such
methods in these days. Good-night! It is time we finished our
stroll together, Tavernake."
They moved towards the door--there was no one to stop them. Only
the professor tried to say a few words.
"My dear Mr. Pritchard--my dear Pritchard, if you will allow me
to call you so," he exclaimed, "let me beg of you, before you
leave us, not to take this trifling adventure too seriously! I
can assure you that it was simply an attempt to coerce you, not
in the least an affair to be taken seriously!"
Pritchard smiled.
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