Nothing was audible but the dull measured tramp of the approaching footsteps.
The black shape now footed the bridge; with a confident gait he approached the middle of it, another step and the bridge gave way beneath him and with an involuntary cry the man in black plunged into the water.
"Now, sir, rush in!" whispered Juon to Szilard.

But the latter could not help thinking at that moment that it was an act of cowardice to attack a man when he could not defend himself, even though that man was a robber, so he allowed him to scramble out onto the other side.
The black mantle had fallen from the shoulders of Fatia Negra into the water and there he now stood before Szilard with his wet clothes clinging closely to his body like a statue of Antinous, a shape of athletic beauty.
In his girdle were a couple of pistols, in all probability rendered useless by the water and a long Arab yataghan almost as long as an ordinary sword but without the usual cruciform hilt.
Szilard barred the way.
For an instant Fatia Negra was taken aback by his antagonist's unexpected wariness and courage, but the next moment his drawn yataghan flashed in his hand and the second flash was the clash of the contending weapons.
And now happened what happens hundreds and thousands of times in actual life.

At the very first onset Fatia Negra, the notorious, the practised, the invincible swordsman was disarmed by a young civilian who had never, perhaps, held a naked sword in his hand before and possessed no advantage over his opponent save the courage of an honest man as opposed to the effrontery of a malefactor--a marvel indeed! Both of them had lunged at the same time, neither of them had parried, Szilard's sword cut through his adversary's wrist and at the same instant Fatia Negra's yataghan fell from his hand.
The wounded robber set up a howl like a wild beast and Juon, lurking beneath the verandah of the mill responded with another howl of joy that sounded like an echo.

The blind man had recognized that Fatia Negra was in danger and at once rushed out upon him.
The disarmed adventurer lost his presence of mind along with his sword.
His right hand suddenly sank helpless to his side and his stout heart was seized with a sort of paralysis.

He perceived that this was the man sent by fate to announce to him that his last hour was at hand.