CHAPTER VI
A NIGHT AND A MORNING
As our coach passed Crown Street I could no longer doubt whither we were bound. The shock of certainty aroused me from the stunned lethargy which had chained me to silence. At the same moment Sir Peter thrust his head from the window and called to his coachman:
"Drive home first!" And to me, resuming his seat: "We had nigh forgotten the case of pistols, Carus."
The horses swung west into Maiden Lane, then south through Nassau Street, across Crown, Little Queen, and King Streets, swerving to the right around the City Hall, then sharp west again, stopping at our own gate with a clatter and clash of harness.
Sir Peter leaped out lightly, and I followed, leaving Dr. Carmody, with his surgical case, to await our return.
Under the door-lanthorn Sir Peter turned, and in a low voice asked me if I could remember where the pistol-case was laid.
My mind was now clear and alert, my wits already busily at work. To prevent Sir Peter's facing Walter Butler; to avoid Cunningham's gallows; could the first be accomplished without failure in the second? Arrest might await me at any instant now, here in our own house, there at the Coq d'Or, or even on the very field of honor itself.
"Where did you leave the pistol-case that day you practised in the garden?" I asked coolly.