“There’s a sweet little pistol for you,” said the Viscount, stopping the hammer at half-cock. “Blew the pips out of a playing card with it once. Cheston laid me ten to one against. Why, you couldn’t miss with this pistol! At least,” he added naively, “I daresay you might, but I couldn’t.”
Captain Heron grinned at this aspersion cast on his marksmanship, and sat down on the edge of the table, watching the Viscount pour in his powder. “Well, all I beg of you is, don’t blow Lethbridge’s head off, Pelham!”
“Might have to wing him,” said the Viscount, picking up a piece of soft kid from the table and placing his ball in it. “I won’t kill him, though, damme, I’ll be hard put to it not to!” He lifted the gun, and with his thumb over the touch-hole gently rammed down the ball. “There you are. Where’s Pom? Might have known he’d over-sleep.” He slipped the pistol into his pocket, and stood up. “Y’know, Edward, this is the devil of a business,” he said seriously. “No knowing how Rule would take it if it came to his ears. Rely on you to help me.”
“Of course I’m going to help you,” replied Captain Heron. “If Lethbridge has the brooch, we’ll get it.”
Sir Roland appearing at this moment, they picked up their hats, and set off for Half-Moon Street. The porter who opened the door to them once more denied his master.
“Not in, eh?” said the Viscount. “Well, I think I’ll step in and take a look.”
“But he’s not in, my lord!” insisted the porter, holding the door. “He went out yesterday in his chaise, and is not back yet.”
“Don’t believe him, Pel,” counselled Sir Roland in the rear.
“But sir, indeed my lord is not in! There is another—well, a person, sir, asking for him besides yourself.”
Captain Heron set his sound shoulder to the door, and thrust it back.