“I am glad, sir, that you see reason,” said Don Ricardo.
“I’m not sure that I see reason,” said Cartaret, “but I’m going to fight you.”
“I do not suppose that you can use a rapier, Mr. Cartaret?”
It was clear that not to understand the rapier was to be not quite a gentleman; but Cartaret made the confession. “Not that it matters,” he reflected.
“But you can shoot?”
Cartaret remembered the boyish days when he had taken prizes for his marksmanship with a revolver. It was the one folly of his youth that he had continued, and he found a certain satisfaction (so much did Eskurola’s pride impress him) in admitting this, albeit he did not mean to use the accomplishment now.
“I carry this with me,” said he, producing his automatic revolver.
Don Ricardo scarcely glanced at it.
“That is not the weapon for a marksman,” he said. “Nevertheless, let me see what you can do. None will be disturbed; these walls are sound-proof.” He took a gold coin, an alfonso, from his pocket and flung it into the air. “Shoot!” he commanded.
Cartaret had expected nothing of the sort. He fired and missed. The report roared through the room; the acrid taste of the powder filled the air. Eskurola caught the descending coin in his hand. Cartaret saw that his failure had annoyed Don Ricardo, and this in its turn annoyed the American.