“Where’s Tristram?” demanded Ludovic of Miss Thane. “He was there! Sixteen candles I shot. I used my Mantons, and Jerry Matthews loaded for me.”
“I don’t know him,” remarked Sir Hugh. “Would he be a son of old Frederick Matthews?”
Miss Thane at this point withdrew to summon Sir Tristram. When she returned with him she found that the question of Mr Jerry Matthew’s parentage had led inexplicably to an argument on the precise nature of a certain bet entered in the book at White’s three years before. The argument was broken off as soon as Sir Tristram entered the room, for Ludovic at once commanded him to say whether he had put out fifteen or sixteen candles at Mrs Archer’s house.
“I don’t remember,” replied Sir Tristram. “All I remember is that you shattered a big mirror to smithereens and brought the Watch in on us.”
Sir Hugh, who was looking fixedly at Sir Tristram, said suddenly, and with a pleased air: “Shield! That’s who you are! Recognized you at once. What’s more, I know where I saw you last.”
Sir Tristram shook hands with him. “At Mendoza’s fight with Warr last year,” he said, without hesitation. “I recall that you were on the roof of the coach next to my curricle.”
“That’s it!” said Thane. “A grand turn-up! Did you see Dan’s last fight with Humphries? A couple of years ago that would be, or maybe three.”
“I saw him beat Humphries twice, and I was at the Fitzgerald turn-up in ‘91.”
“You were? Then tell me this—Was Fitzgerald shy, or was he not?”
“Not shy, no. Rather glaringly abroad once or twice, I thought.”