"This gentleman has given a blow and this other
gentleman has received it. That is a clear issue. Time and
conditions depend upon the person who demands satisfaction. Very
good. He claims it here and now, across the table. He is acting
within his rights. I am prepared to accept the responsibility."
There was nothing more to be said. Lord Rufton sat moodily in
the corner with his brows drawn down and his hands thrust deep
into the pockets of his riding-breeches.
Colonel Berkeley examined the two pistols and laid them both in
the centre of the table. Lord Dacre was at one end and I at the
other, with eight feet of shining mahogany between us. On the
hearth-rug with his back to the fire, stood the tall colonel, his
handkerchief in his left hand, his cigar between two fingers of
his right.
"When I drop the handkerchief," said he, "you will pick up your
pistols and you will fire at your own convenience.
Are you ready?"
"Yes," we cried.
His hand opened and the handkerchief fell. I bent swiftly
forward and seized a pistol, but the table, as I have said, was
eight feet across, and it was easier for this long-armed milord
to reach the pistols than it was for me.
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