"They're three to one.

Save yourself!" I ran on, holding my cudgel in my hand.

Suddenly a horse came towards me.

A man was on it, leaning over his shoulder.
"Are you cooked too, Krafstein ?" he cried.
There was no answer.
I sprang to the horse's head.

It was Rupert Hentzau.
"At last!" I cried.
For we seemed to have him.