The rising moon had just mounted above the eastern wing and
its white light fell upon the upper half of the facade of the
residential site. The quadrangle itself remained plunged in gloom.
Sir Terence, pacing there, was considering the only definite
conclusion he had reached. If there were no way even now of avoiding
this duel, at least it must remain secret. Therefore it could not
take place here in the enclosed garden of his own quarters, as he
had so rashly consented. It should be fought upon neutral ground,
where the presence of the body of the slain would not call for
explanations by the survivor.
>From distant Lisbon on the still air came softly the chimes of
midnight, and immediately there was a sharp rap upon the little
door set in one of the massive gates that closed the archway.
Sir Terence went to open the wicket, and Samoval stepped quickly
over the sill. He was wrapped in a dark cloak, a broad-brimmed
hat obscured his face. Sir Terence closed the door again. The
two men bowed to each other in silence, and as Samoval's cloak fell
open he produced a pair of duelling-swords swathed together in a
skin of leather.
"You are very punctual, sir," said O'Moy.
"I hope I shall never be so discourteous as to keep an opponent
waiting.
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