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“Away!” said the Baron, with an impatient gesture. “Off with his head as quickly as possible!”

“But, my dear sir,” contended the Professor, as the Baron’s retainers seized him, “this is simply awful! No court, no jury, no trial, no chance to tell my story! It is not just. It is not fair play. Permit me, for one moment, to—”

“To the block with him!” screamed the Baron. “Have no more parley about it!”

Sir Bleoberis came forward.

“Sir Bors,” he said, “this, in a measure, is my quarrel. It falls to me by right to punish this wretch. Will you permit me?” and then Sir Bleoberis struck the Professor in the face with his mailed gauntlet.

Professor Baffin would have assailed him upon the spot, but for the fact that he was a captive.

“He means that you shall fight him,” said Sir Dinadan, who retained his faith in the Professor, remembering his own affection for Miss Baffin.

“Certainly I will,” said the Professor. “Where, and when, and how? I would like to have it out right here on the spot.”

It is melancholy to think what would have been the sorrow of the members of the Universal Peace Society, of which the Professor was the first vice-president, if they could have observed the eagerness with which that good man seemed to long for the fray, and the fiery rage which beamed from his eyes until the sparks almost appeared to fly from his spectacles.