Wogan smiled.

"There, sir, you are wrong."

The polite man waved the statement aside. "A letter from Prince
Sobieski," said he.

"I had such a letter a minute ago, but I lit my pipe with it under your
nose."

The polite man stepped back; his four companions started to their feet.

The servant from Ohlau cried out with an oath, "It's a lie."

Wogan shrugged his shoulders and crossed his legs.

"Here's a fine world," said he. "A damned rag of a lackey gives a
gentleman the lie."

"You will give me the letter," said the polite man, coming round the
table. He held his right hand behind his back.

"You can sweep up the ashes from the hearth," said Wogan, who made no
movement of any kind. The polite man came close to his side; Wogan let
him come. The polite man stretched out his left hand towards Wogan's
pocket. Wogan knocked the hand away, and the man's right arm swung
upwards from behind his back with a gleaming pistol in the hand. Wogan
was prepared for him; he had crossed his legs to be prepared, and as the
arm came round he kicked upwards from the knee. The toe of his heavy