OLIVER. Pistols.
CHIEF. At twenty paces?
OLIVER. Across a handkerchief.
CHIEF. Done! (Feeling in his pockets) Have you got a handkerchief? I think I must have left mine on the dressing-table.
OLIVER (bringing out his and putting it hastily back again). Mine's rather—Jill, haven't you got one?
JILL (feeling). I know I had one, but I——
CHIEF. This is an ill business. Five-and-thirty duels have I fought—and never before been delayed for lack of a handkerchief.
JILL. Ah, here it is. (She produces a very small one and lays it on the ground. They stand one each side of it, pistols ready.)
OLIVER. Jill, you must give the word. JILL. Are you ready?
(The sound of a gong is heard.)