Fane opened his cloak and held out the breast of it horizontally, and Hubbard held each weapon in turn under this exiguous shelter, close against Fane's bosom, while he filled each priming pan with fine powder from the small canister he produced from his pocket.
"Have you seen the new percussion caps they are making in London, sir?" asked Fane, his polite small talk tinged with professional interest.
"Too damned newfangled for my liking, sir," said Hubbard. "There, sir. Is that to your satisfaction? Then please take your choice, sir."
"With the weapons under their cloaks to screen them from the rain they looked up at the sky.
"The light's fair in any direction with these clouds," said Fane. "Better station them with the wind abeam."
"I agree," said Hubbard.
They stepped out twelve paces apart and looked round at their principals who came up and were posted on the exact spots indicated. Peabody saw Davenant's face for the first time since yesterday. It was composed, stolid, philosophic. Peabody knew himself to be calm and his hand was steady, so that his heart was joyful.
"Sir," said Hubbard. "I must ask you if it is not possible, even at this last moment, to compose your differences with Captain Davenant and prevent the effusion of blood?"
"Not a chance," said Peabody.
Fane had posed the same question to Davenant.
"Never," said Davenant, steadily.
"Then you will please turn your backs," said Hubbard. He raised his voice. "I will call 'One — two — three — Fire!' You will remain still until the word 'Fire,' when you will turn and fire at your leisure. Captain Fane, did your principal hear what I said, or shall I repeat?"
"My principal heard," said Fane.
Hubbard took the pistol from under his coat and put it into Peabody's hand; the butt felt reassuringly solid through the doeskin glove. Peabody made sure of his grip, made sure his finger was securely against the trigger, raised the pistol so that his eye was along the barrel, made sure that there was no chance of his feet slipping. He tensed himself ready to wheel round while Hubbard's footsteps died away.
"One!" came Hubbard's voice. "Two — three — Fire!"
Peabody swung round, careful to point his right shoulder to his enemy so as to reduce the surface presented to the shot. Davenant's face showed clear at the end of the pistol-barrel, and he began a steady squeeze on the trigger. At that moment came a bang and a puff of smoke. Davenant had fired — presumably he had fired as he wheeled. The aim must have been poor, for Peabody did not even feel the wind of the bullet. Davenant was at his mercy now, and he could take his own time over his shot. Not that there was any need, for Davenant's face, seen clearly through the rain, was there along his pistol-barrel. As surely as anything in this life he could place a bullet right between his eyes and kill him. Davenant's eyes looked back at him without a sign of faltering.
Peabody's first instinct was one of mercy. He did not want Davenant's life. He did not want to kill anyone except to the benefit of the United States of America. It raced through his mind that Hunningford had told him of the imminent possibility of peace — the peace of the years to come would not be helped by a memory of a captain slain in a duel. He just had time to point the pistol vertically into the air before it went off.
The four seconds came pressing forward.
"My principal has stood your principal's fire," said Hubbard, and Peabody noticed that Hubbard's voice sounded strained. All that careful unconcern had been merely a pose, and he was off his guard now and showed it. "He has deliberately missed. Honor is completely satisfied, and both parties will leave the ground."
"No second shot?" asked Maitland, and Hubbard turned upon him with an icy politeness barely concealing his poor opinion of a man who could display such ignorance of the code of honor.
"Your principal had his shot and it was not returned," he said. "You cannot expect him to be accorded further opportunities."
That was perfectly true — it had been at the back of Peabody's mind when he missed. A duelist whose life had been spared must remain satisfied with that.
"Mr. Hubbard is quite right," said Fane. "Both parties must leave the ground. But I must remind everyone that this is a most suitable opportunity, now that honor is satisfied, to make whatever concessions are compatible with honor and gentlemanly conduct. Mr. Hubbard, would you perhaps be good enough to approach your principal again?"
Hubbard strode over to Peabody and spoke in a low voice.
"You could accept an apology, sir," he said. "You could do a good deal more than that, even, seeing that you've stood his fire."
"What happens if I don't?" asked Peabody. He was vague on the point — he was familiar with the code of honor but had never come across the practical application of this particular item.
"Nothing," said Hubbard. "You can never admit his existence, sir, that's all, and the same with him. You never see each other when you meet. It's awkward when you're in the same ship — I saw it with Clough and Brown in the old Constitution — but as things are, it'll hardly affect you."
"I see," said Peabody. It probably would not affect him much, not even though Davenant was on a familiar footing with his wife's aunt. He would probably never again have dealings with Davenant now that the affair of the Susanna was settled. And then at that very moment the germ of an idea came into his mind, engendered by this thought. He might be able to wring very considerable advantages for the service if he could keep in touch with Davenant.
"Fane and I will be speaking together," explained Hubbard further. "Fane might be able to make a lot of concessions, seeing that the world will not know who made the first advance, so to speak."
"I'll accept anything in reason," said Peabody. "I can leave it all to you, I know, Hubbard. But I don't want to be put out of touch with Davenant if it can possibly be helped. Remember that."
"I will, sir," said Hubbard, and turned back. Fane left Davenant a moment later and joined him, and the two talked together in low voices. Davenant and Peabody stood and fidgeted in the drenching rain — their eyes met once and Peabody had difficulty, in his present excitement over his new plan, in keeping his features in their proper expression of stony indifference. Hubbard came back.
"He's ready," he said, "to express through Fane profound regret that the incident ever happened. That's not a full apology, sir. It's only a half-measure, and if shots hadn't been exchanged I should strongly advise against acceptance. But as things are, and remembering what you told me about wanting to remain in touch, I've taken it upon myself to accept."
"Good," said Peabody. "What do I do now?"
"Merely acknowledge him, sir, before we leave the ground."
All very well, thought Peabody, to say that so airily, but actually it was a difficult moment. Peabody felt positively awkward as he came up to Davenant. He made his stiff spine bend in the middle.
"Your servant, sir," he said.
Davenant bowed with an equal lack of grace.
"Your servant, sir," and then, constraint suddenly vanishing, "Dammit, man, I'm glad I missed you."
Walking home Hubbard and Murray and Downing were in the highest spirits despite their wet clothes.
"By God, sir," said Hubbard. "This'll look well in the newspapers at home. You spared his life, sir. I could see that. I could see how you had him along your pistol."
"Davenant's a dead shot," said Downing.
"Yes, sir," said Murray. "They say he can hit a pigeon on the wing."
"I didn't tell you that, sir, before you met him," said Hubbard with a laugh.
No, damn you, thought Peabody, a little embittered at the thought, and he said nothing.