It was Fatia Negra! this was Fatia Negra's house!
And this was not all.
Close upon the traces of Fatia Negra rushed another phantom with a drawn
sword in its hand, but its face was towards her and she recognized in
it--Szilard Vamhidy.
And yet she did not lose her consciousness at this double sight of
terror, though it would have been much better for her if she had.
Fatia Negra plunged into the armoury and plucked down a pistol from the
wall.
Szilard paused on the threshold.
"Halt!" cried Fatia Negra with a voice like a scream--"this is my house
and your tomb."
Szilard did not condescend to reply but drew a step nearer.
"Sir, but one word more," said Fatia Negra in a fainter voice and so
hoarsely as to be scarcely audible, "you have wounded me, you have run
me down; but your life is now in my hands and I could kill you this
instant if I had a mind to. Let us bargain a bit: I won't kill you if
you will not pursue me any further. You return and say you could not
catch me. I swear to you that to-morrow I will send you twenty thousand
ducats."
With contemptuous coldness Szilard replied: "Surrender, I will not
bargain."
"You won't bargain, you crushed worm you! The mouth of my pistol is on a
level with your forehead. I have only to press my finger and your head
would be shattered--and yet you dare to have it out with me? Do you want
to save your head?"
"I mean to have yours," said Szilard and he drew a step nearer to the
adventurer.
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