Luckily the smoke was still so dense in the corridor that those assembled on the left staircase couldn’t see him. They’d think he was in the Duchess’s rooms yet, and he hoped that when they did rush it and didn’t find him there the rolled-back carpets would give them the idea that he’d taken a running broad jump from the balcony. In which case, they’d at once search the moat for him. And if they didn’t find him swimming there, as they wouldn’t, then they might presume he’d either drowned or else got to the shore and was now somewhere in the darkness of the city.
He felt along the wall toward the staircase, his other hand gripping the stiletto. When his fingers ran across the arm of a man leaning against the wall, he withdrew them at once, bent his knees and in a crouching position ran in the general direction of the stairs. The smoke got even thinner here so that he saw the steps in time to avoid falling over them. Unfortunately the Duke and another man were also there. Both saw his figure emerge into the torchlight from the clouds, but he had the advantage of knowing who he was, so that he had plunged the thin stiletto into the soldier’s throat before he could act. The Duke tried to leap past Green, but the Earth-man stuck a leg out and tripped him. Then he grabbed the ruler’s arm, twisted it behind his back, forced him up and on his knees and, using the arm as a cruel lever, raised him. He enjoyed hearing the Duke moan, though he’d never consciously taken pleasure in pain before. He had time to think that perhaps he liked this because of the torture the Duke had inflicted on his many helpless victims. Of course, he, Green, a highly civilized man, shouldn’t be feeling this way. But the rightness or wrongness of an emotion never kept anybody from experiencing it.
“Up you go!” he said in a low, harsh voice, directing the Duke toward his apartments, manipulating the twisted arm as a steering column. By then the smoke had cleared away so that those at the other end of the corridor could see that something was wrong. A shout arose, followed by the slap of running feet on the stone flags. Green stopped, turned the Duke so he faced the approaching crowd and said to him, “Tell them that I will kill you unless they go away.”
To emphasize his point he stuck the end of the stiletto into the Duke’s back and pressed hard enough to draw blood. The Duke quivered, then became rigid. Nevertheless he said, “I will not do so. That would be dishonor.”
Green couldn’t help admiring such courage, even if it did make his predicament worse. He refused to kill the Duke just then because that would throw away the only trump card he held at that moment. So he stuck the stiletto in his teeth and, still holding with one hand to the Duke’s twisted arm, took the Duke’s pistol from his belt and fired over his shoulder.
There was a whoosh of flame that burned the Duke’s ear and made him give a cry that was almost drowned out in the roar of the explosion. The nearest man threw up his hands, dropping his spear, and fell on his face. The others stopped. Doubtless, they were still operating under the Duchess’s orders not to kill Green, for the Duke must have arrived at the foot of the staircase just in time to witness the explosion of the gunpowder. And he was in no condition to issue contrary orders, being deafened and stunned by the report almost going off in his ear.
Green shouted out, “Go back, or I will kill the Duke! It is his wish that you go back to the stairs and do not bother us until he sends word to you!”
By the flickering light of the torches he could see the puzzled expression on the soldiers’ faces. It was only then he realized that in his extreme excitement he had shouted the orders in English. Hastily, he translated his demands, and was relieved to see them turn and retreat, though reluctantly. He then half-dragged the Duke up the steps to his apartments, where he barred the door and primed his pistol again.