“I didn’t know you were going to try me,” he said, “and I’m not used to marking up the ceilings of my friends’ houses. Try again.”
The Basque, without comment, flung up the alfonso a second time, and a second time Cartaret fired. Eskurola reached for the coin as before, but this time it flew off at an angle and struck the farther wall. When they picked it up, they found that it had been hit close to the edge of the disk.
“Not the center,” said Don Ricardo.
“Indeed?” said Cartaret. What sort of shot would please the man? “Suppose you try.”
Eskurola explained that he was not accustomed to such a revolver, but he would not shirk the challenge; and there was no need for him to shirk it: when Cartaret recovered the alfonso after Don Ricardo had shot, there was a mark full in its middle.
“So much for His Spanish Majesty,” said the Basque, as he glanced at the mark made by his bullet in the face upon the coin. “We shall use dueling-pistols. I have them here.” He went to the desk.
Cartaret had no doubt that Eskurola had them there: he probably had a rack and thumbscrews handy below-stairs.
“We shall have to dispense with the formality of a surgeon,” Don Ricardo was saying.
“It doesn’t look as if one would be needed,” Cartaret smiled; “and it doesn’t look as if we were to have seconds, either.”
The Basque turned sharply. “We are the only gentlemen within miles, and we cannot have servants for witnesses. Moreover, an Eskurola needs no seconds, either of his choosing to watch his safety, or of his enemy’s to suspect his honor.”