"Anything you like. I suggest rifles, magazine rifles, to make a clean and engineering job of it."
"Well, I may as well tell you that rifle shooting has been my hobby for the past two years."
"Noble savage! I won the Gascoign Cup myself."
"Alright, I'll take it at that. Where shall it be?"
"Oh, France! of course. We'll cross to-morrow, and open at a thousand yards. We'll stalk each other among the sand hills, just below Havre there. How's that for real sport, eh?" He looked at Carstairs' steady, thoughtful face with genuine admiration. "By God, Carstairs, you're one of the best! The best. It's a pity we crossed. I suppose you're not prepared to give up the girl?"
"Only to a better man, not to a blasted sweep like you."
"No, quite so! I should never under any circumstances fight you with sledge hammers, Carstairs. We'll cross to-morrow, or this evening then. I think the Havre boats only go at night. Shall we go round to Cook's together and book now? Then we'll buy a couple of rifles." He was like a school boy at the prospect of a holiday, the sporting spirit had bitten very deeply into him. "Come on, old chap," he said, in the height of good humour, and they went out together. They had dinner together and journeyed to Southampton together. Carstairs, his hand on the revolver in his coat pocket, never for one minute taking his eyes off him. They got aboard the little steamer, and she cleared the dock at midnight. They paced the deck together, watching the receding lights of the town; the sky was sprayed and flecked with numberless little clouds, the moonlight shining through the cracks, and ever and anon breaking out into full power between the larger gaps.
As they walked together, and the Solent widened out into the broad English Channel and the Island faded from view, Darwen grew strangely pensive and poetical.
"By Jove, there's nothing like the sea, you know! the sea, by moonlight! Look at that!"
They stood together at the rail, and gazed out over the tossing, tumbling waste of waters, Carstairs still watchful, still suspecting treachery at any minute. Darwen stood silently for some moments, then he burst forth into poetry.