This insolence had a strange result. In an instant, with a fierce growl and a mighty bound, Boris was at the stranger's throat. Rupert had not seen or had not heeded the dog. A startled oath rang out from him. He snatched the revolver from his belt and fired at his assailant. This shot must have broken the beast's shoulder, but it only half arrested his spring. His great weight was still hurled on Rupert's chest, and bore him back on his knee. The packet that he had flung lay unheeded. The King, wild with alarm and furious with anger at his favourite's fate, jumped up and ran past Rupert into the next room. Herbert followed; even as they went Rupert flung the wounded weakened beast from him and darted to the doorway. He found himself facing Herbert, who held a boar-spear, and the King, who had a double-barrelled hunting gun. He raised his left hand, Herbert said—no doubt he still asked a hearing—but the King levelled his weapon. With a spring Rupert gained the shelter of the door, the bullet sped by him and buried itself in the wall of the room. Then Herbert was at him with the boar-spear. Explanations must wait now: it was life or death; without hesitation Rupert fired at Herbert, bringing him to the ground with a mortal wound. The King's gun was at his shoulder again.
"You damned fool!" roared Rupert, "if you
