Several of the Black-and-Whites, who had heard about the proposed "meeting," had a secret consultation with Ned M'Gill and Davie Merricks, who, it was whispered, had taken the friendly job of "seconds," and the whole affair was "adjusted." With swords this was impossible, and they resolved to resort to the respectable and honourable weapon, the revolver.
The two men who were to face each other in terrible earnest, you may be sure, slept little or none during the preceding night. "Four o'clock sharp, mind, at the grass field, near Hagg's Castle," said the brave seconds, "and it will be all over in a few minutes." Charlie shuddered when he heard the last words (which, by the way, were deliberately intended for him).
"A few minutes, and all will be over," Charlie muttered; "what if I should be killed?" His very teeth (which he used to whiten with cigar ashes, and was so proud about), were chattering. Thousands of ideas floated across his heated imagination. He saw his past life before him, and the only consolation, if it could be called one, lay in the thought that, should it come to the worst, Jenny Black's eyes would be dimmed with tears at his misfortune. He felt sure the dear lassie loved him, and he would brave death a thousand times rather than endure the anguish of seeing her married to a useless fellow like Bob Lambert.
Bob, on the other hand, was really a cool and determined fellow; and while Charlie was in the throes speculating about probable dissolution before the morrow's sun should rise, Bob was actually priding himself on superior ability in handling a revolver. He was, in fact, far too arrogant a man to imagine that he could be shot by a silly boy like Walker. He had made up his mind to shoot straight when the signal fell, and indulged in the devilish pleasure it would afford him to read a "true and particular account" of the duel in the Glasgow evening papers, if good luck would favour him in escaping to the Continent.
"These fellows are not going to come up to the scratch," said Ned M'Gill to the other honourable gent—as they passed the Clydesdale Cricket Ground a few minutes to four o'clock on that memorable morning. Ned, however, was wrong. Through the grey dawn a muffled figure was observed crossing the Pollokshields Athletic Club's Park, and making direct for the old castle. Almost simultaneously came a second individual from the vicinity of Crossmyloof, smoking a cigar. There was no doubt about it, for on closer inspection the figure was that of Lambert, who generally indulged in a good cigar, as he had a friend in the Anchor Line who was always supplying him with "weeds."
A very short time sufficed to measure the distance, but the would-be murderers, no doubt, considered it an age. When the seconds advanced along with their men to the fatal spot, and placed them twenty paces apart, Charlie put one in mind of the poor misguided boy in "The Rivals." His hand shook, and his knees almost touched one another.
The signal was given, and bang went the revolvers from both sides. None of the young men, however, seemed to have been hit; and while Charlie was almost sinking on the ground from excitement, Bob might have been seen examining his weapon with suspicion, at the same time casting a glance at his rival and wondering why he did not fall. A second or two more, and the latter fired another shot, and this time poor Charlie dropped his pistol and fell back on the grass.
Bob was satisfied he had done the business now, and taking the advice of Davie Merricks, he fled for his life; getting the early train for Greenock and thence per steamer "Golden Eagle," to the Isle of Man.
The "seconds" (and a few strange figures that were seen lurking about) of course, lifted the supposed dying man from the grass, and as his "life's blood ebbed away," they whispered about being willing to fill a last request. Poor Charlie's brow was covered with blood, and as he himself expressed the terrible sensation of "feeling a pistol ball bobbing about in his brain," arrangements were hastily made for having him consigned to relatives. Accordingly his lodgings were sought after and easily found by the excited hansom driver who had taken them near the fatal spot.
All the time the affair was going on the driver threw out grave hints about reporting the whole matter to the police. When they reached Greenfield Avenue, however, there was still some life in Charlie, but he said he "knew he was dying," and forgave everybody who had taken part in the rascally business.