The Amateur Gentleman

"I'm w-warming my pistol-hand, Dig," he continued, "mustn't be cold

or s-stiff tonight, you see. Oh, I tell you the luck's with me at

last! He's b-been so vastly clever, Dig! He's dragged me down to hell,

but--tonight I'm g-going to-take him with me."

And ever as he spoke, warming himself at the fire, Ronald Barrymaine

kept his burning gaze upon Mr. Chichester's pale face, while

Barnabas leaned, twisted in his chair, and Mr. Smivvle busied

himself with the oblong box. With shaking hands he took out the

duelling-pistols, one by one, and laid them on the table.

"We'll g-give him first choice, eh, Dig?" said Barrymaine. "Ah--he's

chosen, I s-see. Now we'll t-take opposite corners of the room and

f-fire when you give the word, eh, Dig?"

As he spoke, Barrymaine advanced to the table, his gaze always upon

Mr. Chichester, nor did he look away even for an instant, thus, his

hand wandered, for a moment, along the table, ere he found and took

up the remaining pistol. Then, with it cocked in his hand, he backed

away to the corner beside the hearth, and being come there, nodded.

"A good, comfortable distance, D-Dig," said he, "now tell him to

take his g-ground."

But even as he spoke, Mr. Chichester strode to the opposite corner

of the long room, and turning, stood there with folded arms. Up till

now, he had uttered no word, but as Mr. Smivvle leaned back against

the wall, midway between them, and glanced from one to the other,

Mr. Chichester spoke.

"Sirs," said he, "I shall most certainly kill him, and I call upon

you to witness that it was forced upon me."

Now as his voice died away, through the open window came a faint

sound that might have been wind in the trees, or the drumming of

horse-hoofs, soft and faint with distance.

"Oh, g-give us the word, D-Dig!" said Barrymaine.

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Smivvle, steadying himself against the

panelling with shaking hands, "the word will be--Ready? One! Two!

Three--Fire! Do you understand?"

An eager "Yes" from Barrymaine, a slight nod from Chichester, yet

Mr. Smivvle still leaned there mutely against the wall, as though

his tongue failed him, or as if hearkening to that small, soft sound,

that might have been wind in the trees.

"The word, Dig--will you give us the word?"

"Yes, yes, Barry, yes, my dear boy--certainly!" But still Mr. Smivvle

hesitated, and ever the small sound grew bigger and louder.

"S-speak! Will you s-speak, Dig?"

"Oh, Barry--my dear boy, yes! Ready?"

At the word the two pistols were raised and levelled, almost on the

instant, and with his haggard eyes turned towards Barrymaine's corner,

Mr. Smivvle spoke again: "One!--Two!--Three--"

A flash, a single deafening report, and Ronald Barrymaine lurched

sideways, caught at the wall, swayed backwards into the corner and

leaned there.