Clementina

He had barely seated himself when the polite man, who had come first

hot and short of breath into the room, crossed the floor and leaning

over the table said with a smile and the gentlest voice, "I think, sir,

you ought to know that we are all very poor men."

"I, too," replied Wogan, "am an Irishman."

The polite man leaned farther across the table; his voice became

wheedling in its suavity. "I think you ought to know that we are all

very poor men."

"The repetition of the remark," said Wogan, "argues certainly a poverty

of ideas."

"We wish to become less poor."

"It is an aspiration which has pushed many men to creditable feats."

"You can help us."

"My prayers are at your disposal," said Wogan.

"By more than your prayers;" and he added in a tone of apology, "there

are five of us."

"Then I have a guinea apiece for you," and Wogan thrust the table a

little away from him to search his pockets. It also gave him more play.

"We do not want your money. You have a letter which we can coin."

Wogan smiled.

"There, sir, you are wrong."

The polite man waved the statement aside. "A letter from Prince

Sobieski," said he.

"I had such a letter a minute ago, but I lit my pipe with it under your

nose."

The polite man stepped back; his four companions started to their feet.

The servant from Ohlau cried out with an oath, "It's a lie."

Wogan shrugged his shoulders and crossed his legs.

"Here's a fine world," said he. "A damned rag of a lackey gives a

gentleman the lie."

"You will give me the letter," said the polite man, coming round the

table. He held his right hand behind his back.

"You can sweep up the ashes from the hearth," said Wogan, who made no

movement of any kind. The polite man came close to his side; Wogan let

him come. The polite man stretched out his left hand towards Wogan's

pocket. Wogan knocked the hand away, and the man's right arm swung

upwards from behind his back with a gleaming pistol in the hand. Wogan

was prepared for him; he had crossed his legs to be prepared, and as the

arm came round he kicked upwards from the knee. The toe of his heavy

boot caught the man upon the point of the elbow. His arm was flung up;

the pistol exploded and then dropped onto the floor. That assailant was

for the time out of action, but at the same moment the lackey came

running across the floor, his shoulders thrust forward, a knife in his

hand.