"Ah!" sighed Mr. Chichester, falling back a step, "you mean to murder me, do you?"
"I said 'kill'--though yours is the better word, perhaps. Here are two pistols, you will observe; one is for you and one for me. And we are about to sit down--here, at the table, and do our very utmost to murder each other. But first, I must trouble you to lock the door yonder and bring me the key. Lock it, I say!"
Very slowly, and with his eyes fixed in a wide stare upon the threatening muzzle of the weapon Barnabas held, Mr. Chichester, crossed to the door, hesitated, turned the key, and drawing it from the lock, stood with it balanced in his hand a moment, and then tossed it towards Barnabas.
Now the key lay within a yard of Barnabas who, stepping forward, made as though to reach down for it; but in that instant he glanced up at Mr. Chichester under his brows, and in that instant also, Mr. Chichester took a swift, backward step towards the hearth; wherefore, because of this, and because of the look in Mr. Chichester's eyes, Barnabas smiled, and, so smiling, kicked the key into a far corner.
"Come, sir," said he, drawing another chair up to the table, "be seated!" saying which, Barnabas sat down, and, keeping one pistol levelled, laid the other within Mr. Chichester's reach. "They are both loaded, sir," he continued; "but pray assure yourself."
But Mr. Chichester stood where he was, his eyes roving swiftly from Barnabas to the unlatched window, from that to the door, and so back again to where Barnabas sat, pale, smiling, and with the heavy weapon levelled across the narrow table; and as he stood thus, Mr. Chichester lifted one white hand to his mouth and began to pull at his lips with twitching fingers.
"Come," repeated Barnabas, "be seated, sir."
But Mr. Chichester yet stood utterly still save for the petulant action of those nervous, twitching fingers.
"Sir," Barnabas persisted, "sit down, I beg!"
"I'll fight you--here--and now," said Mr. Chichester, speaking in a strange, muffled tone, "yes--I'll fight you wherever or whenever you wish, but not--not across a table!"
"I think you will," nodded Barnabas grimly. "Pray sit down."
"No!"
"Why, then, we'll stand up for it," sighed Barnabas rising. "Now, sir, take up your pistol."
"No!"
"Then," said Barnabas, his teeth agleam, "as God's above, I'll shoot you where you stand--but first I'll count three!" And once more he levelled the pistol he held.
Mr. Chichester sighed a fluttered sigh, the twitching fingers fell from his mouth and with his burning gaze upon Barnabas, he stepped forward and laid his hand upon the chair-back, but, in the act of sitting down, paused.
"The candles--a little more light--the candles," he muttered, and turning, crossed to the hearth and raised his hand to a branched silver candlestick that stood upon the mantel. But in the moment that his left hand closed upon this, his right had darted upon another object that lay there, and, quick as a flash, he had spun round and fired point-blank.
While the report yet rang on the air, Barnabas staggered, swayed, and, uttering a gasp, sank down weakly into his chair. But, as Mr. Chichester watched him, his eyes wide, his lips parted, and the pistol yet smoking in his hand, Barnabas leaned forward, and steadying his elbow on the table, slowly, very slowly raised and levelled his weapon.
And now, as he fronted that deadly barrel, Mr. Chichester's face grew suddenly livid, and haggard, and old-looking, while upon his brow the sweat had started and rolled down, glistening upon his cheeks.
The fire crackled upon the hearth, the clock ticked softly in the corner, the table creaked as Barnabas leaned his weight across it, nearer and nearer, but, save for this, the place was very quiet. Then, all at once, upon this silence broke another sound, a distant sound this, but one that grew ever nearer and louder--the grind of wheels and the hoof-strokes of madly galloping horses. Mr. Chichester uttered a gasping cry and pointed towards the window--
"Cleone!" he whispered. "It's Cleone! She's coming, in God's name--wait!"
The galloping hoofs drew rapidly nearer, stopped suddenly, and as Barnabas, hesitating, glanced towards the window, it was flung wide and somebody came leaping through--a wild, terrible figure; and as he turned in the light of the candles, Barnabas looked into the distorted face of Ronald Barrymaine.
For a moment he stood, his arms dangling, his head bent, his glowing eyes staring at Mr. Chichester, and as he stood thus fixing Mr. Chichester with that awful, unwavering stare, a smile twisted his pallid lips, and he spoke very softly:
"It's all r-right, Dig," said he, "the luck's with me at l-last-- we're in time--I've g-got him! Come in, D-Dig, and bring the tools--I--I've g-got him!"
Hereupon Mr. Smivvle stepped into the room; haggard of eye he looked, and with cheeks that showed deadly pale by contrast with the blackness of his glossy whiskers, and beneath his arm he carried a familiar oblong box; at sight of Barnabas he started, sighed, and crossing hastily, set the box upon the table and caught him by the arm:
"Stop him, Beverley--stop him!" he whispered hurriedly. "Barry's gone mad, I think, insisted on coming here. Devil of a time getting away, Bow Street Runners--hard behind us now. Means to fight! Stop him, Beverley, for the love of--Ah! by God, what's this? Barry, look--look here!" And he started back from Barnabas, staring at him with horrified eyes. "Barry, Barry--look here!"
But Ronald Barrymaine never so much as turned his head; motionless he stood, his lips still contorted with their drawn smile, his burning gaze still fixed on Mr. Chichester--indeed he seemed oblivious to all else under heaven.
"Come, Dig," said he in the same soft voice, "get out the barkers, and quick about it, d' you hear?"
"But, Barry--oh, my dear fellow, here's poor Beverley, look--look at him!"
"G-give us the barkers, will you--quick! Oh, damnation. Dig, y-you know G-Gaunt and his hangman are hard on my heels! Quick, then, and g-get it over and done with--d'you hear, D-Dig?" So saying, Barrymaine crossed to the hearth and stood there, warming his hands at the blaze, but, even so, he must needs turn his head so that he could keep his gloating eyes always directed to Chichester's pale face.
"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