"Sir," said he, leaning towards Barnabas, "you appear to be hurt, but you are not—dying, of course?"
"Dying!" repeated Barnabas, lifting a hand to his aching brow, "dying,—no."
"And yet, I fear you are," sighed Mr. Chichester, "yes, I think you will be most thoroughly dead before morning,—I do indeed." And he drew a pistol from his pocket, very much as though it were a snuff-box.
"But before we write 'Finis' to your very remarkable career," he went on, "I have a few,—a very few words to say. Sir, there have been many women in my life, yes, a great many, but only one I ever loved, and you, it seems must love her too. You have obtruded yourself wantonly in my concerns from the very first moment we met. I have always found you an obstacle, an obstruction. But latterly you have become a menace, threatening my very existence for, should you dispossess me of my heritage I starve, and, sir—I have no mind to starve. Thus, since it is to be your life or mine, I, very naturally, prefer that it shall be yours. Also you threatened to hound me from the clubs—well, sir, had I not had the good fortune to meet you tonight, I had planned to make you the scorn and laughing-stock of Town, and to drive you from London like the impostor you are. It was an excellent plan, and I am sorry to forego it, but necessity knows no law, and so to-night I mean to rid myself of the obstacle, and sweep it away altogether." As he ended, Mr. Chichester smiled, sighed, and cocked his pistol. But, even as it clicked, a figure rose up from behind the rotting wherry and, as Mr. Chichester leaned towards Barnabas, smiling still but with eyes of deadly menace, a hand, pale and claw-like in the half-light, fell and clenched itself upon his shoulder.
At the touch Mr. Chichester started and, uttering an exclamation, turned savagely; then Barnabas struggled to his knees, and pinning his wrist with one hand, twisted the pistol from his grasp with the other and, as Mr. Chichester sprang to his feet, faced him, still upon his knees, but with levelled weapon.
"Don't shoot!" cried a voice.
"Shoot?" repealed Barnabas, and got unsteadily upon his legs. "Shoot—no, my hands are best!" and, flinging the pistol far out into the River, he approached Mr. Chichester, staggering a little, but with fists clenched.
"Sir," cried the voice again, "oh, young sir, what would you do?"
"Kill him!" said Barnabas.
"No, no—leave him to God's justice, God will requite him—let him go."