“You were very foolhardy to do that,” Robert said gently.
“I started to think so this mornin’,” Billy said more soberly. “But two days ago I didn’t care, I just wanted to puncture that bloated vanity of his, and I did. He huffed up like a rooster and said I’d insulted him, and if I thought he really was wicked and cowardly, he’d give me a chance to settle scores-man to man.”
“He suggested a duel?” Robert said, knowing it was so but still finding the fact incredible.
“He caught me off guard,” Billy said, reddening slightly.
“Sounds as if he’s rather skilled at that,” Marc said. “But how can a constantly guarded prisoner arrange for a duel outside his cell?”
“He said he could persuade his jailer, Lieutenant Bostwick, to set it up for the next mornin’. I had enough breath still in me to ask about weapons and seconds, and he said Bostwick would supply pistols and act as umpire and second fer both of us. Bostwick is the colonel’s adjutant and an old crony, so I figured I didn’t haveta worry about him bein’ unfair or dishonest.”
“No wonder Bostwick was chagrined to see Cobb arrive,” Marc said.
“And the colonel,” Robert added. “So you agreed?” he said to Billy.
“Yes. I was to come to the little garden he used to exercise in at seven o’clock the next mornin’. When I asked about the guards on the back gate, he said they were usually asleep, but he could arrange fer Bostwick to take care of them.” Billy looked at Marc, then Robert. “I couldn’t say no, could I?”
Marc said nothing but had to agree.
Billy did indeed arrive at the back gate of Chepstow shortly after seven, while it was still dark, and the sentries were, as predicted, fast asleep. Lieutenant Bostwick was waiting in the enclosed garden with two pistols on a tray. Major Coltrane then came out of the back door of his quarters (always barred on the outside by the jailer but not so that morning) in his tunic with no overcoat. Bostwick explained the rules and then held the tray out to Coltrane, who chose a pistol with no great care or seeming concern. The adversaries exchanged no words. At twenty paces apart the two men were to turn around, wait till the umpire’s hanky hit the ground, then fire at will.
Billy had never before fired a pistol, even though he was an experienced hunter of small game with a rifle and musket. But as he took his ten paces, all his anger and outrage at Coltrane-which had mellowed somewhat during a sleepless night-flared up as he thought about his life without Mel at his side and the failure of his engagement to Dolly, and the last thing he saw before he wheeled and prepared to blow this demon creature to the far reaches of hell was his friend’s inexhaustible grin. He heard his own pistol explode, then Coltrane’s. Something thudded into the wall behind him. (In his report, Cobb had noted that he and Constable Brown had returned to Chepstow and examined the garden wall behind each of the shooters. They dug out a ball four feet to the right of where Billy had stood and two feet above his head. No bullet was found in the wall opposite. Cobb’s conclusion: Coltrane, a crack shot, had deliberately missed his opponent; Billy, with malice aforethought, hadn’t even hit the garden.) Billy readily admitted making the death threats before witnesses but confessed now that he genuinely regretted doing so.
“You mean to say that you wouldn’t carry them out now even if some miracle were to occur and you would be given a second chance?” Robert asked carefully.
“I had my chance to do it honourably,” Billy said with conviction. “If I was to do it now, I’d be no better than an assassin. Like him.”
“At the moment, as I’m sure Jailer Strangway has informed you, those threats are going to keep you in that miserable cell for at least two or three weeks,” Marc said, “by order of the governor.”
Billy’s face fell. “I’ll freeze to death in there,” he moaned.
“Our only hope is to somehow persuade the governor and magistrate to drop the charges,” Robert said, and before Billy could get his hopes raised, he added quickly, “but at the moment I can’t see how we’ll go about that.”
“I do,” Marc said.
Billy and his attorney listened with increasing optimism as Marc outlined his plan. First, there was the fact that not only was no one injured, but even the police had concluded that Coltrane had consciously chosen to miss his target, an honourable tactic often used in duels where honour alone was to be satisfied. No bullet having been found in the wall behind the major, Cobb had assumed that Billy’s errancy had been due to his inexperience and understandable nervousness and not to any conscious decision to aim elsewhere. This inference was made plausible only after the fact, when Cobb had been witness to Billy’s tantrum. But could the latter not be attributed to the young man’s embarrassment by the arrival of outsiders who had observed his ineptness? Young and impulsive, he had shouted threats and uttered boasts to cover his shame and maintain his manhood before strangers.
“My God, man, you’re almost ready for the bar,” Robert said, smiling.
“I won’t lie,” Billy said. “I did mean to shoot him, but yes, those stupid threats were made ’cause I was angry and frustrated.”
“You don’t have to lie,” Marc said. “Under British law, the Crown must prove intent. You have the right to remain silent. In a court of law, the Crown is obliged to demonstrate on its own and without your help that you wished Coltrane’s death before the incident and at the moment when you pulled the trigger. Your shooting four feet over his head may speak louder than any words could.”
“But we can’t wait for a trial or for bail a month from now,” Robert reminded his apprentice.
“Exactly. Before we take our plea for bail or an outright discharge to the magistrate, we’ll need to do two things. First, we’ll need to convince Mr. Thorpe, and Sir George, that the duel was a pro forma affair between two army officers who, by deliberately shooting wild, inflicted no harm while preserving their honour. Second, to give credence to our claim that Billy’s spate of after-the-fact threats was a momentary and uncharacteristic outburst, we’ll need assurance from the other participant that he himself did not take Billy’s words seriously and, indeed, has no present concern for his safety in that regard.”
The latter part of this proposal was greeted with awkward silence.
“You aren’t suggesting that we get Coltrane to swear that the duel was more or less staged and that Billy’s intemperance was entirely benign?” Robert said at last.
“I’m sure he’s quite delighted I’m rottin’ in a cell somewhere,” Billy said bitterly.
“Perhaps,” Marc said. “But then he doesn’t yet know you saved his life, does he?”
Ten minutes later, a course of action had been sketched out. Billy would refrain from making any statements about the incident to anybody-not even to Dolly, should she be magnanimous enough to visit him. (She would, bringing warm clothes and extra food.) Robert would draw up a sworn statement stipulating conditions for Billy’s release on his parole; to wit, he would remain within the confines of his mother’s home until such time as the court disposed of the charges against him, on pain of forfeiture of a hundred-dollar bond and his freedom. At the same time Robert would work out the particulars of the defense that Marc had earlier suggested, in anticipation of presenting it to Mr. Thorpe and, if necessary, to the attorney general. None of these tactics would actually be deployed, however (save Billy’s silence), until the third part of the plan had been successfully completed: convincing Coltrane to go along with the defense’s version of events.
“I want you to see Coltrane this afternoon,” Robert said.
Marc looked surprised but not displeased.
“Well, you were a commissioned officer yourself,” Robert explained, “and you too, if I recall, know the glory that can attend battle. If anyone can get through to this Yankee yahoo, it’s you.”
“I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to be flattered by that comment or not.”