Rupert stared. ‘What’s this? Can’t fight here, Dominic. Arrange it for you out at Barn Elms, nine o’clock.’
‘By nine o’clock I shall be in Newmarket,’ said the Marquis. ‘I’ll settle my score before I leave.’
Mr Fox roused himself. He inspected the pistols through his eyeglass and looked inquiringly at Vidal. ‘Where did they come from?’ he said. ‘Don’t carry pistols to gaming houses myself ?’
‘They come out of my coach,’ replied Vidal. He looked at the clock. ‘It waits. Choose, you!’
‘I’m for you!’ Mr Quarles declared. He rolled an eye at Captain Wraxall. ‘Sir, will you act for me?’
‘Act for you?’ exploded the Captain. ‘I’ll have nothing to do with the business. My lord, you’re in no fit case to fight, and I recommend you to go home and let your seconds arrange the matter more seemly.’
Vidal laughed. ‘Not fit? By God, that’s rich, Wraxall. You don’t know me very well, do you?’
‘I am happy to say I do not, sir!’ said the Captain stiffly.
‘Watch then!’ My lord drew a small gold-mounted pistol from his pocket. He levelled it, still lounging in his chair, and fired before any could stop him. There was a big report, and the smash of glass as the bullet shattered the big mirror at the end of the room.
‘What in hell’s name – ?’ began Wraxall furiously, and broke off, staring in the direction of my lord’s pointing finger. One of a cluster of three candles was no longer burning. The voice of Mr Comyn said calmly: ‘Quite remarkable shooting – under the circumstances.’
Lord Rupert, forgetting larger issues, called out: ‘Outed it, begad, and not touched the wax! Good lad!’
The explosion brought those still remaining in the other rooms hurrying to the scene. Vidal paid no heed. ‘Don’t know me very well, do you?’ he repeated, and laughed again.
Cholmondley, casting a glance of rebuke at Rupert, admonished Mr Quarles once more. ‘Go home and sleep on it, Quarles. If you want to fight, fight sober. You’re no match for Vidal else.’
A stout individual dressed in discreet black pushed his way through the knot of men in the doorway. ‘What’s this, gentlemen?’ he said. ‘Who fired that shot?’
Vidal raised his brows. ‘You interrupt, Timothy. I fired that shot.’
The stout man looked aghast. ‘My lord, my lord, what wild work is this? You’ll ruin me, my lord!’ He saw the case containing the pistols and made a pounce for them. My lord’s hand shot out and grasped his wrist. Timothy met his eyes for a moment, and said distressfully: ‘My lord, I beg of you – my lord, don’t do it here!’
He was thrust back. ‘Damn you, stop whining!’ Vidal sprang up, overturning his chair. ‘Am I to sit here till noon while Mr Quarles makes up his mind? Name your friends!’
Quarles rolled a hot eye round the circle. No one came forward. ‘I
’ll act for myself since you’re all so shy,’ he sneered.
Mr Comyn, his sedateness quite unimpaired, rose from his seat. ‘Since it is my Lord Vidal’s honour that is in question it will be wise to have a gentleman to act for you, sir,’ he said.
‘To hell with the lot of you!’ swore Quarles. ‘I’ll act for myself.’
‘Your pardon, sir,’ returned Mr Comyn smoothly, ‘but I think you must see that if you doubt his lordship’s good faith, your seconds should carefully examine these pistols, which I apprehend are his lordship’s own. In short, I offer myself at your disposal.’
‘Obliged to you,’ growled Quarles.
Vidal was leaning on a chair back. ‘That’s a mighty long speech,’ he remarked, with just that faint suggestion of slurring his words together. ‘Is it to insult me, or not?’
‘Such, my lord, is not at the moment my intention,’ replied Mr Comyn.
The Marquis laughed. ‘Didn’t know you had it in you. You’re devilish correct, ain’t you?’
‘I trust I am conversant with the rules governing such affairs as these, my lord. Will you name your friends?’
The Marquis was still looking at him with an amused and not unkindly eye. ‘Charles, you might act for me,’ he said, without turning his head.
Mr Fox arose, sighing. ‘Oh, very well, Dominic, if you must behave so damned irregularly.’ He went apart with Mr Comyn, and they inspected the weapons with due solemnity, and pronounced them identical.
Lord Rupert pushed his way unceremoniously to his nephew’s side. ‘Go put your head in a bucket of water, Vidal!’ he said. ‘Stap me if I ever heard the like of you to-night! Mind you, I don’t say the fellow don’t deserve to have a hole in him, but do the thing decently, my boy, that’s all I ask!’ He broke off to hurl somewhat conflicting advice to Captain Wraxall. ‘Move those candles a shade to the left, Wraxall. Must have the light fair to both.’