"Mr. John Armitage--"
Chauvenet, his revolver half raised, had begun an ironical speech, but
the words died on his lips. The man who stood blinking from the sudden
burst of light was not John Armitage, but Captain Claiborne.
The perspiration on Claiborne's face had made a paste of the dirt from
the potato sack, which gave him a weird appearance. He grinned broadly,
adding a fantastic horror to his visage which caused Zmai to leap back
toward the door. Then Chauvenet cried aloud, a cry of anger, which
brought Durand into the hall at a jump. Claiborne shrugged his shoulders,
shook the blood into his numbed arms; then turned his besmeared face
toward Durand and laughed. He laughed long and loud as the stupefaction
deepened on the faces of the two men.
The objects which Durand held caused Claiborne to stare, and then he
laughed again. Durand had caught up from a hook in Armitage's room a
black cloak, so long that it trailed at length from his arms, its red
lining glowing brightly where it lay against the outer black. From the
folds of the cloak a sword, plucked from a trunk, dropped upon the floor
with a gleam of its bright scabbard.
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