Then there was a hush of expectancy. Lisle took his time; a sharp crack, a streak of smoke, and Gladwyne raising his glasses, laughed.
“High!” he called. “Top spot!”
It was a three of hearts, and Gladwyne’s smile lingered for a moment after Lisle fired again.
“Bottom now; you’re low!” he cried, and then his expression slightly changed. Both spots were drilled out—this did not look altogether like an accident.
“Center!” he announced after another shot, and all the faces surrounding him became intent. The three hearts were neatly punched.
“A fresh card!” exclaimed Crestwick, looking around at Batley with an exultant sparkle in his eyes. “You offered to let me off. Shall I return the compliment?”
The man laughed carelessly, though Lisle thought it cost him an effort.
“No,” he retorted; “I can’t show myself less of a sportsman than you are; but I think I’ve the option of demanding a longer range. Move the mat back twenty-five yards and put up an ace of spades; it’s the plainest. Three shots each should suffice at the distance.”
Crestwick got down and thrice touched the outside of the card; Batley did better, for two shots broke the edge of the black and one was close above them. It was good shooting at so small a mark, and Lisle was a little anxious as he very deliberately stretched himself out on the mat. Having little of the gambler’s instinct in his nature, he was reluctant to lose the money at stake, but he was more unwilling to let Batley fleece the lad whom, as he recognized now, he had been asked to aid. He meant to do so, if the thing were possible, and twice he paused and relaxed his grip when his sight grew slightly blurred.
Then there was a sharp crack, and he smiled when he heard Gladwyne’s report.