第 43 节
作者:孤独半圆      更新:2021-02-24 22:24      字数:9321
  I had had any idea that you were going to demand rapiers I should have
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  warned you before。〃
  Cleggett was amused at the great detective's anxiety。                〃It appears that
  the fellow handles the rapier pretty well; eh?〃 he said easily。
  〃Cleggett〃   began   Barnstable。         And   then   he   paused   and   groaned
  and     mopped      his   brow。     Presently      he   controlled    his   agitation    and
  continued。 〃Cleggett;〃 he said; 〃the man is an expert swordsman。                     I have
  been on his trail; I know his life for years past。               He was once a maitre
  d'armes。     He gave lessons in the art。〃
  〃Yes?〃 said   Cleggett;   laughing   and   flexing   his   wrist。     〃I   am   glad   to
  hear that!     It will be really interesting then。〃
  〃Cleggett;〃 said Barnstable; 〃I beg of youname pistols。                 This is the
  man who invented that diabolical thrust with which Georges Clemenceau
  laid low so many of his political opponents。              If you must go on with this
  mad duel; name pistols!〃
  〃Barnstable;〃   said   Cleggett;   〃I   know   what   I   am   about;   believe   me。
  Your anxiety does me little honor; but I am willing to suppose that you are
  not deliberately insulting; and I pass it over。           I intend to kill this man。       It
  is   a   duty   which   I   owe   to   society。 And   as   for   the   rapierbelieve   me;
  Barnstable;   I   am   no   novice。    And   my   blood   tingles   and   my   soul   aches
  with the desire to expunge that man from life with my own hand。                     Come;
  we have talked   enough。          There is   a case   of swords in   the cabin。        Will
  you do me the favor to bring them on deck?〃
  Loge's irons were unlocked。          He rose to his feet and stretched himself。
  He removed his coat and waistcoat。              Then he took off his shirt; revealing
  the fact that he wore next his skin a long…sleeved undershirt of red flannel。
  Cleggett began to imitate him。          But as the commander of the Jasper B。
  began to pull his shirt over his head he heard a little scream。                  Everyone
  turned in the direction from which it had emanated。                   They beheld Miss
  Genevieve   Pringle   perched   upon   the   top   of   the   cabin;   whither   she   had
  mounted by means of a short ladder。              This lady; perhaps not quite aware
  of   the   possibly   sanguinary   character   of   the   spectacle   she   was   about   to
  witness;   had;   nevertheless;   sensed   the   fact   that   a   spectacle   was   toward。
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  Miss Pringle had with her a handsome lorgnette。
  〃Madam;〃   said   Cleggett;   hastily   pulling   his   shirt   back   on   again   and
  approaching the cabin; 〃did you cry out?〃
  〃Mr。erCleggett;〃   said   Miss   Pringle;   pursing   her   lips;   〃if   you   will
  kindly hold the ladder for me I think I will descend and retire at once to
  the cabin。〃
  〃As you wish;〃 said Cleggett politely; complying with her wish; but at
  a loss to comprehend her。
  〃I beg   you   to   believe;  Mr。  Cleggett;〃   said   Miss   Pringle;  averting her
  face and flushing painfully; while she turned the lorgnette about and about
  with embarrassed fingers; 〃I beg you to believe that in electing to witness
  this spectacle I had no idea of its exceedingly informal nature。〃
  With these words she passed into the cabin; with the air of one who
  has sustained a mortal insult。
  〃Ef   you   was   to   ask   me   what   she's   tryin'   to   get   at;〃   piped   up   Cap'n
  Abernethy;   〃I'd   say   it's   her   belief   that   it   ain't   proper   for   gents   to   sword
  each other with their shirts off。         She's shocked; Miss Pringle is。〃
  〃In great and crucial moments;〃 said Cleggett soberly; pulling off his
  shirt   again   and   picking   up   a   sword;   〃we   may   dispense   with   the   minor
  conventions without apology。〃
  Loge chose a weapon with the extreme of care and particularity; trying
  the hang and balance of several of them。               He looked well to the weight;
  bent the blade in his hands to test the spring and temper; tried the point
  upon his thumb。         He handled the rapier as if he had found an old friend
  again after a long absence; he looked around upon his enemies with a sort
  of ferocious; bantering gayety。
  〃And now;〃 said Loge; 〃if this is to be a duel indeed; Mr。 Cleggett and
  I   will   need   plenty   of   room;   I   suggest   that   the   rest   of   you   retire   to   the
  bulwarks and give us the deck to ourselves。〃
  〃For my part;〃 said Cleggett; 〃I order it。〃
  〃And;〃   said   Wilton   Barnstable;   drawing   his   pistol;   〃Mr。   Black   will
  please note that while I am standing by the bulwarks I shall be watching
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  indeed。     Should   he   make   an   attempt   to   escape   from   the   vessel   I   shall
  riddle him with bullets。〃
  〃Come; come;〃 said Loge; 〃all this conversation is a waste of time!〃
  〃That is my opinion also;〃 said Cleggett。
  They saluted formally; and engaged their blades。
  With   Cleggett;   swordsmanship   was   both   a  science   and   an   art。       And
  something   more。        It   was   also   a   passion。  A   good   swordsman   can   be
  made; a superior swordsman may be born; the real masters are both born
  and   made。     It   was   so   with   Cleggett。   His   interest   in   fencing   had   been
  keen    from   his   early   boyhood。      In   his  teens   he   had   acquired    unusual
  practical     skill  without     great    theoretical    knowledge。        Then     he   had
  recognized the art for what it is; the           most beautiful game on earth; and
  had    made     a  profound     and    thorough     study   of   it;  it  appealed    to  his
  imagination。
  He became; in a way; the poet of the foil。
  Cleggett   seldom   fenced   publicly;   and   then   only   under   an   assumed
  name; he abhorred   publicity。          But there  was not   a teacher  in New York
  City who   did   not know him  for  a   master。          They  brought   him  their  half
  worked out visions of new combinations; new thrusts; he perfected them;
  and simplified; or elaborated; and gave back the finished product。
  They were the workmen; the craftsmen; the men of talent; he was the
  originator; the genius。
  And   he   was   especially   lucky   in   not   having   been   tied   down;   in   his
  younger years; to one national tradition of the art。              The limitations of the
  French; the Spanish; the Italian; or the Austrian schools had not enslaved
  him in youth and hampered the free development of his individuality。                     He
  had   studied   them   all;   he   chose   from   them   all   their   superiorities;   their
  excellences he blended into a system of his own。
  It might be called the Cleggett System。
  The Frenchman is an intellectual swordsman; the basis of his art is a
  thorough      knowledge       of   its  mathematics。       Upon      this  foundation      he
  superimposes a structure of audacity。             But he often falls into one error or
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  another; for all his mental brilliancy。            He may become rigidly formal in
  his   practice;   or;   in   a   revolt   from   his   own   formalism;   be   seduced   into   a
  display of showy; sensational tricks that are all very well in the studio but
  dangerous to their practitioner on the actual dueling ground。
  The   Italian;   looser;   freer;   less   formal;   more   individual   in   his   style;
  springing from a line of forbears who have preferred the thrust to the cut;
  the    point   to   the   edge;   for   centuries;    is  a   more    instinctive    and    less
  intellectual   swordsman   than   the   Frenchman。           It   is   in   his   blood;   he   uses
  his rapier with a wild and angry grace that is feline。
  The  Frenchman;  even   when   he  is   thoroughly  serious   in   his desire   to
  slay; loves a duel for its own sake; he is never free from the thought of the
  picture he is making; the art; the science; the practical cleverness; appeal
  to him independently of the bloodshed。
  The   Italian   thinks   of   but   one   thing;   to   kill。 He   will   take   a   severe
  wound to