“A terrible situation,” said the Padre. “Duelling is direct contravention of all Christian principles, and, I believe, of the civil law. The discharge of a pistol, in unskilful hands, may lead to deplorable results. And Major Flint, so one has heard, is an experienced duellist… That, of course, makes it even more dangerous.”
It was at this identical moment that Major Flint came out of his house and qui-hied cheerily to Puffin. Miss Mapp and the Padre, deep in these bloody possibilities, neither saw nor heard them. They passed together down the road and into the High Street, unconscious that their very look and action was being more commented on than the Epistle to the Hebrews. Inside the garden-room Miss Mapp sighed, and bent her eyes on her chrysanthemums.
“Quite terrible!” she said. “And in our peaceful, tranquil Tilling!”
“Perhaps the duel has already taken place, and—and they’ve missed,” said the Padre. “They were both seen to return to their houses early this morning.”
“By whom?” asked Miss Mapp jealously. She had not heard that.
“By Hopkins,” said he. “Hopkins saw them both return.”
“I shouldn’t trust that man too much,” said Miss Mapp. “Hopkins may not be telling the truth. I have no great opinion of his moral standard.”
“Why is that?”
This was no time to discuss the nudity of Hopkins and Miss Mapp put the question aside.
“That does not matter now, dear Padre,” she said. “I only wish I thought the duel had taken place without accident. But Major Benjy’s—I mean Major Flint’s—portmanteau has not come back to his house. Of that I’m sure. What if they have sent it away to some place where they are unknown, full of pistols and things?”