"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.