Hardly five minutes after their arrival another conveyance, this time a travelling chaise, drove into the field, and Mr. Farnaby and Captain Crake got out.
Mr. Fitzjohn, observing the chaise, was conscious once more of that faint feeling of unease. Unless he was much mistaken there was a box strapped onto the back of the chaise, and although the vehicle was only drawn by a pair of horses with one postilion, it had all the appearance of being about to make a journey of some distance. His lips tightened; he began to suspect Mr. Farnaby of having a sterner purpose than he had supposed possible, and determined, in the event of Peregrine’s receiving a mortal wound, to put every obstacle in the way of his opponent’s flight.
Both the newcomers were stamping their feet on the ground and slapping their hands on their arms, but Captain Crake soon came across the field to where Mr. Fitzjohn awaited him, and after the briefest of greetings the pair set about the task of inspecting and loading the pistols. No second shot was to be allowed, so that only Mr. Fitzjohn’s pistols (a very fine pair of Manton’s, ten inches in length, in the barrels, and with steel sights) were loaded.
This done, Mr. Fitzjohn rejoined Peregrine, and said in a low voice: “Twelve paces. You can’t miss, Perry. Let him have it!”
“Yes, if I can I will,” answered Peregrine, beginning to unbutton his greatcoat. “Do you advise fighting in this coat or without it?”
“Without it,” said Mr. Fitzjohn, grimly surveying the very large mother-of-pearl buttons with which the coat was adorned. “I should have warned you to wear a black coat. Close it up to the throat, and remember not to stand square to the fellow, but give your side only, and keep your arm well in to it. And don’t lower it until Farnaby’s shot, Perry! Here comes the fellow now. You must salute him, of course, but I need not tell you that.” He waited until this formality had been gone through, and then said: “Listen to me, Perry! Make up your mind where you mean to hit him, and don’t trouble your head with wondering where he means to hit you! Take your aim when I say ‘All’s ready,’ keep your eye on the handkerchief, and when I let it drop, shoot! If you kill him I’ll get you away somehow.”
“It sounds mighty desperate,” said Peregrine, forcing his pale lips into a smile. “You’re a curst good friend, Fitz. Thank you, and—oh, well, just thank you!”
Mr. Fitzjohn gripped his shoulder. “Breakfast in my lodgings afterwards,” he said, and walked off to measure the paces with Captain Crake.
Peregrine buttoned up his coat to the throat, observing as he did so that Mr. Farnaby, who was wearing black, had done the same. Mr. Farnaby, after his salute, had not looked at him again. He seemed to be impatient, and kept calling to his second to make haste, and not keep them all standing in the cold. When called upon to leech he came at once to the spot, took the pistol Mr. Fitzjohn handed him at half-cock, and stood with the muzzle pointed to the ground.
Peregrine was given the second pistol, and realized that the palms of his hands were sweating slightly. He wiped them on his pantaloons, took the pistol carefully (for the slightest touch would make a duelling pistol go off when set at half-cock, as he very well knew), and put himself into position.