"You have met the Black Death. You have yet to meet the Red Death.
And you may meet the Black Death again," he added as Tom groaned
where he lay on the floor.
Marjory shuddered.
"Enough of this!" she exclaimed. "Is it understood there is to be no
killing on this ship?"
"It is, my dear," Murray responded. "And now I think you had best
withdraw. This has been a trying interview for you, I fear."
She looked from one to the other of us, as if half in doubt; and then
gathered her cloak around her. We all three, as with one accord,
bowed low as she stepped into the passage.
Murray opened a lanthorn and snuffed the candle within.
"You must be weary, Master Ormerod," he said solicitously. "It hath
been a trying evening for you too, I fear."
"Ah, the devil played a strong hand, Master Juggins," de Veulle
chimed in, with a yawn. "You do not object to your old name, I hope?
It fits you like a snug shirt."
"Not in the least," I retorted. "'Tis an honest name. You will
note, I hope, that the devil, as always, was checkmated, even though
he had two of the minor fiends of darkness at his elbow."
Murray laughed, the fine, resonant laugh of a well-bred, honorable
gentleman.
"Zooks, _chevalier_, have done. The man hath a rare metal."
"If wit fails, try small-swords," I suggested as I left the cabin.