"As I faced him," he went on, "I told him that I would not kill him outright. I would give him an equal chance. I am a sportsman. I told him what the thing was, of the duels I had seen in Africa, of the chance that each took. At the very point of the gun I forced him to take the bean that was lying on the desk and cut it in half with my knife. Then I took back the knife and pointed to the two parts that lay on the desk before him.
"'Choose!' I ordered."
"But the glasses," interrupted Doyle, before he could check himself. "You forgot about the two glasses on the desk."
"Oh yes—the glasses—on the desk. There were two glasses—I got two glasses. I filled them with water. I placed one before him, the other before myself. 'Choose!' I ordered him, pointing to the halves of the bean before him.
"One thing I can say. Vail Wilford was not yellow. He saw that I had him—that there was no escape. He looked from the gun to me, then at the halves of the bean. Outside there was silence. No place, you know, is more deserted than down-town late at night after business hours. If he shouted, he knew that I would fire—also if he moved. I gave him sixty seconds to choose which half he would take. At the point of the gun he chose.
"'Now,' I said to him, taking the remaining half myself, 'put it in your mouth, chew it, swallow it. If you spit out so much as a fragment I will fire instantly.'
"And I give him credit. He was a sportsman and a gentleman through it all. I watched him chew it, and when he started I reached over and took my half. I began to chew that, myself. Then, together, we drank the water from the glasses, so that we would have to swallow the parts of the bean. Though I had him in my power, I did not take advantage of him."
Honora gasped at the picture Shattuck was drawing. The recital was deeply affecting to her. I saw her leaning forward, and her rapidly rising and falling breast told the suppressed emotion under which she labored.
"All right," hurried Doyle, to whom the dramatic quality of the tale had little appeal. "But what about the note? You forget to tell us about the suicide note."
"Oh yes," exclaimed Shattuck, "so I did—about the note. I made him write it before we ate the bean—while I had him covered. I made him sit down at his own typewriter and I dictated it to him—one for myself, the other for him—to be used in case either survived."