There was a moment’s silence before Valiant spoke again. When he did his voice was steady, though drops had sprung to his forehead. “Was there any circumstance in that meeting that might be construed as reflecting on his—honor?”
“Good God, no!” said the major explosively.
“On his bearing as a gentleman?”
There was a hiatus this time in which he could hear his heart beat. In that single exclamation the major seemed to have exhausted his vocabulary. He was looking at the ground. It was the doctor who spoke at last, in a silence that to the man in the doorway weighed like a hundred atmospheres.
“No!” he said bluntly. “Certainly not. What put that into your head?”
When he was alone in the library Valiant opened the glass door and took from the shelf the morocco case. The old shiver of repugnance ran over him at the very touch of the leather. In the farthest corner was a low commode. He set the case on this and moved the big tapestry screen across the angle, hiding it from view.
The major and the doctor walked in silence till they had left Damory Court far behind them. Then the doctor observed caustically, “Nice graceful little act of yours, yanking that infernal pistol out before his face like that!”
“How in Sam Hill could I guess?” the other retorted. “It’s long enough since I saw that old case. I—I brought it there myself, Southall—that very morning, immediately after the meeting. To think of its lying there untouched in that empty room all these years!”
There was another silence. “How straight he put the question to us! Right out from the shoulder, for all the world like his father. Well, you said the right thing. There are times when a gentleman simply has to lie like one.”