For it was towards the mantelpiece that his retreat, seeming forced, in truth so deliberate, led him.

There was the letter, there lay the revolvers.

The time to think of risks was gone by; the time to boggle over what honor allowed or forbade had never come to Rupert of Hentzau.

If he could not win by force and skill, he would win by guile and by treachery, to the test that he had himself invited.

The revolvers lay on the mantelpiece: he meant to possess himself of one, if he could gain an instant in which to snatch it.
The device that he adopted was nicely chosen.