‘I will fetch them.’
I went at once to Wilfrid’s berth and knocked, and walked in without waiting for him to tell me to enter. He was writing in his diary; he instantly threw down his pen and jumped from his chair.
‘Is all ready, Charles?’ he asked.
‘Your pistols are identical, I believe?’ said I.
‘Exactly alike,’ he answered.
‘Then Colonel Hope-Kennedy’s choice,’ said I, ‘cannot furnish him with any advantage over you, by his choosing, I mean, with a soldier’s experience the preciser weapon?’
‘There is not an atom of difference between them,’ he exclaimed. ‘Yonder’s the case, Charles. Take it, and let the scoundrel choose for himself.’
He could not have spoken more coolly had he been giving me the most commonplace instructions. I remember wondering whilst I looked at him and listened to him whether he actually realised his own intention; yet I should have known better than this if only for the meaning his face conveyed, and for a note in his voice that made every accent hard and steady. He said, ‘When you are ready ring the hand-bell on the table; I will then join you.’
‘But you will charge your own pistol,’ said I, ‘so I must return with the weapon after the Colonel has made his choice.’
‘No,’ he exclaimed; ‘carry the case on deck and load for me.’