Von Holzen did not disappoint him, but came flying on silent feet, like some beast of prey, from the darkness. Cornish had played half-back for his school not so many years before. He collared Von Holzen low, and let him go, with a cruel skill, heavily on his head and shoulder. Not a word had been spoken, and, in the stillness of the summer night, each could hear the other breathing.
Roden stood quite still. He could scarcely distinguish the antagonists. His own breath came whistling through his teeth. His white face was ghastly and twitching. His sleepy eyes were awake now, and staring.
Each charge had left Cornish nearer to the canal. He was standing now quite at the edge. He could smell, but he could not see the water, and dared not turn his head to look. There is no railing here as there is nearer the town.
In a moment, Von Holzen was on his feet again. In the dark, mere inches are much equalized between men--but Von Holzen had a knife. Cornish, who held nothing in his hands, knew that he was at a fatal disadvantage.
Again, Von Holzen ran at him with his arm outstretched for a swinging stab. Cornish, in a flash of thought, recognized that he could not meet this. He stepped neatly aside. Von Holzen attempted to stop stumbled, half recovered himself, and fell headlong into the canal.
In a moment Cornish and Roden were at the edge, peering into the darkness. Cornish gave a breathless laugh.
“We shall have to fish him out,” he said.
And he knelt down, ready to give a hand to Von Holzen. But the water, smooth again now, was not stirred by so much as a ripple.
“Suppose he can swim?” muttered Roden, uneasily.
And they waited in a breathless silence. There was something horrifying in the single splash, and then the stillness.
Roden struck a match, and held it inside his hat so as to form a sort of lantern, though the air was still enough. Cornish did the same, and they held the lights out over the water, throwing the feeble rays right across the canal.
“He cannot have swum away,” he said. “Von Holzen,” he cried out cautiously, after another pause--“Von Holzen--where are you?”
The surface of the canal was quite still and glassy in those parts that were not covered by the close-lying duck-weed. The water crept stealthily, slimily, towards the sea.