“Yes, they’re a first-rate pair,” agreed Mr. Fitzjohn. “Hair trigger, of course. It’ll go off at a touch.”
The coach stopped in Great Ormond Street to pick up the doctor, who came out of his house almost as soon as the horses pulled up, and jumped nimbly into the coach. He had a black case under his arm, which Peregrine knew must contain the instruments of his profession. Oddly enough, the sight of it affected him more unpleasantly than the case of pistols had done.
“You are in good time, gentlemen,” said the doctor, rubbing his hands together. “It is a cold morning, is it not?”
“Cold enough,” said Mr. Fitzjohn. “But it won’t be long before we are all of us drinking hot coffee in a place I know of hard by the Green.”
“Myself, I never touch coffee,” said the doctor. “I hold it to be injurious to the stomach. Cocoa, now—there is no harm in a cup of cocoa; I have even known it to prove in some cases extremely beneficial.”
Interested in his subject, and possibly with some notion of diverting Peregrine’s mind from the coming duel, he went on to discuss the effects of wine and tea on the human system, and was still talking when the coach arrived at the hamlet of Westbourn Green.
The meeting-place was at no great distance from the road; the coach was able to drive within sight of it over a field.
“First on the ground,” said Mr. Fitzjohn, jumping down. “But we shan’t have long to wait, for it’s close on eight now. Unless, of course, our man has thought better of it. Perry, if there’s any offer of apology I shall accept it.”
“Very well,” said Peregrine, who was finding it increasingly difficult to talk.
He got down from the coach and walked beside his friend to the ground. The day, though dull, was by this time quite light. A sharp wind was blowing, and some scudding clouds overhead gave warning of rain to come. Peregrine thrust his hands into his pockets to keep them warm, and glanced up at the sky. He had rather an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach, but apart from that he felt curiously detached.