The fellow used his sword fairly, but no match for his adversary.
Buckingham run him through before the Russian had regained his
presence of mind.
As the unfortunate Anson fell, the Duke turned to Cantemir, who was
separated from him by two prone figures and the chest. The Count held
the advantage and meant to use it by springing ahead into the opening.
There was no opportunity for Buckingham to either reach him or head
him off. Cantemir had caught up the filled bags and was smiling
insolently across at him. Buckingham was exasperated, not by the
fellow's triumph, but at his own helplessness to cut him off. But
there was no time to be lost; those other sounds were growing nearer.
The Duke made a bound toward the opening. Cantemir, with an exultant
laugh, sprung also toward the opening, but his laugh was turned into
a yell of fear, as his leg was caught in a death-like grip by the
servant he had kicked from the chest.
In an instant Buckingham was upon him and binding his arms tight
behind; the poor, cowardly knave begging at every breath for his life.
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