I drew back as far as I could from the door, holding the table in the position that I have described. Then I called out:

“Gentlemen, I accept your offer, relying on your honour. If you will open the door—”

“Open it yourself,” said Detchard.

“It opens outwards,” said I. “Stand back a little, gentlemen, or I shall hit you when I open it.”

I went and fumbled with the latch. Then I stole back to my place on tiptoe.

“I can’t open it!” I cried. “The latch has caught.”

“Tut! I’ll open it!” cried Detchard. “Nonsense, Bersonin, why not? Are you afraid of one man?”

I smiled to myself. An instant later the door was flung back. The gleam of a lantern showed me the three close together outside, their revolvers levelled. With a shout, I charged at my utmost pace across the summer-house and through the doorway. Three shots rang out and battered into my shield. Another moment, and I leapt out and the table caught them full and square, and in a tumbling, swearing, struggling mass, they and I and that brave table, rolled down the steps of the summerhouse to the ground below. Antoinette de Mauban shrieked, but I rose to my feet, laughing aloud.

De Gautet and Bersonin lay like men stunned. Detchard was under the table, but, as I rose, he pushed it from him and fired again. I raised my revolver and took a snap shot; I heard him curse, and then I ran like a hare, laughing as I went, past the summer-house and along by the wall. I heard steps behind me, and turning round I fired again for luck. The steps ceased.

“Please God,” said I, “she told me the truth about the ladder!” for the wall was high and topped with iron spikes.

Yes, there it was. I was up and over in a minute. Doubling back, I saw the horses; then I heard a shot. It was Sapt. He had heard us, and was battling and raging with the locked gate, hammering it and firing into the keyhole like a man possessed. He had quite forgotten that he was not to take part in the fight. Whereat I laughed again, and said, as I clapped him on the shoulder:

“Come home to bed, old chap. I’ve got the finest tea-table story that ever you heard!”

He started and cried: “You’re safe!” and wrung my hand. But a moment later he added:

“And what the devil are you laughing at?”

“Four gentlemen round a tea-table,” said I, laughing still, for it had been uncommonly ludicrous to see the formidable three altogether routed and scattered with no more deadly weapon than an ordinary tea- table.

Moreover, you will observe that I had honourably kept my word, and not fired till they did.