Harry looked at me. I understood his glance and edged nearer to Sir Eustace.

“Yes,” murmured the latter, “decidedly you are not lucky! This is⁠—let me see, the third encounter.”

“You are right,” said Harry. “This is the third encounter. Twice you have worsted me⁠—have you never heard that the third time the luck changes? This is my round⁠—cover him, Anne.”

I was all ready. In a flash I had whipped the pistol out of my stocking and was holding it to his head. The two men guarding Harry sprang forward, but his voice stopped them.

“Another step⁠—and he dies! If they come any nearer, Anne, pull the trigger⁠—don’t hesitate.”

“I shan’t,” I replied cheerfully. “I’m rather afraid of pulling it, anyway.”

I think Sir Eustace shared my fears. He was certainly shaking like a jelly.