He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile in the imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the women in darkness. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. "Now's your time," cried Blueskin, struggling desperately with his assailants and inflicting severe cuts with his knife. Brendon dismissed the subject with a wave of the hand. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. He’s dead. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. This formidable person, who was no other than the renowned Figg, the "Atlas of the sword," as he is termed by Captain Godfrey, had removed his hat and "skull covering," and was wiping the heat from his bepatched and closeshaven pate.
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