The Great Man said, “No apology is necessary, Lord Purleigh.”
Lord Bob grinned. “Good of you to say so. But it’s Bob, eh?” He turned to me, the eyebrows raised. “Hale and hearty, are we? Ready for the main event?”
“Yeah.”
“Good man.” He leaned toward me and gave me a wink. “Got a fiver riding on you. Don’t let me down, eh?
He was a lot happier with me today than he'd been yesterday. Or maybe he was just unhappy with Sir David. “Who took your bet?” I asked him.
“Madame Whatsis’s husband. The skinny chap. Tunney, is it?”
I smiled. “Dempsey.”
“Whatever. In any event, good luck, eh?” Grinning, he moved into a boxing stance. “Keep up that left, eh?”
“I’ll try.”
“Good fellow. Ah, Doyle, there you are. About ready to begin, are we?”
Towering over us all, Doyle nodded his big pink head. “Very nearly, Lord Purleigh. But I must speak briefly with Mr. Beaumont.”
“Right you are,” said Lord Bob. “I’m off.” He turned back to me, grinning again, and he held up his left hand, balled into a fist. “The left, eh?”
I smiled and nodded, and he bustled away.
“Now,” said Doyle. “Mr. Beaumont, do you still wish to go through with this?”
“Yeah.”
For a moment his glance traveled around my face like the beam of a searchlight. “Are you really quite sure, Beaumont? No offense, but you do look a trifle”-he frowned-“worn this morning.”
“I’m fine.”
He nodded. “Very well.” He smiled slightly. But I dare say you’ll be a shade more mobile without your coat and tie.”
As I pulled off the coat, Doyle turned to the Great Man. “You’ll be in Mr. Beaumont’s corner? Acting as his assistant?”
“As his second,” corrected the Great Man.
“Yes,” said Doyle. “Here, permit me to take that.” He took my coat, draped it over his arm, took my tie, draped that over the coat. “You’re ready, then?” he asked me.
“Yeah.” I unbuttoned my left shirt cuff.
“Very well. Houdini, you and Beaumont will have that corner.” He nodded toward the southeast. The Great Man gave me one of his wide smiles and then capered off to the corner.
He’d already forgotten about Miss Turner and the Earl and everything else I’d told him when we tramped down the stairs. He was genuinely excited, I think. Maybe because, for a change, he got to be part of the audience, and he wasn’t in any kind of competition with the performer.
Doyle called out, “Sir David?”
As I rolled back my sleeves, Sir David strode toward us along the grass, tall and lithe. He moved well for someone as big as he was. His eyebrows were raised as he smiled at me. I nodded to him. Without lowering his eyebrows or nodding back, he turned to Doyle. “Yes?”
“I should like to be quite certain,” said Doyle, “that we all understand the rules.” As he spoke, he looked back and forth between me and Sir David. “The rounds will be of three minutes duration, with a rest period of one minute between each. Any man who falls during the course of a round will have ten seconds to get up, unassisted. A man on one knee is considered down, and if struck wins the match by forfeit. There will be no wrestling or hugging. No hitting below the belt, no hitting over the kidneys or the back of the neck. No kicking, gouging, or biting. Is that clear?”
Sir David smiled. “Quite.”
“Mr. Beaumont? Clear?”
“Yeah.” But it took away a big chunk of my repertoire. “Good,” said Doyle. “To your corners, then, gentlemen.”
I walked over to my stool. The Great Man was dancing around beside it, grinning and rubbing his palms together. I turned and looked over at Sir David. His second was Dr. Auerbach.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced Doyle, his big voice booming out across the lawn. “Welcome to the contest. This is to be a boxing match of ten rounds, fought by modified Marquis of Queensberry rules. Each round will last for three minutes. Lady Purleigh will be acting as timekeeper. The round will end when she rings the bell. Lady Purleigh, could you demonstrate, please?” The copper cowbell on the table was attached at the top to a strip of ribbon. Lady Purleigh smiled and then raised the bell, using the ribbon as a handle. She tapped the bell with a small metal hammer. It made a sharp pleasant ring that faded off across the wide empty lawn.
“Thank you,” said Doyle. He turned to the others. “I shall be acting as referee, and my decisions are final.”
“Here, here,” said Lord Bob loudly, and clapped his hands. The rest of them applauded.
“In this corner,” announced Doyle, “we have Sir David Merridale, from London.”
People applauded politely. Behind me, the Great Man hollered, “ Boooo! ” Heads swung, stiffly, in his direction. Most of the clapping seemed to be coming from Cecily Fitzwilliam. Lady Purleigh leaned toward her.
Smiling, Sir David nodded in the direction of each table.
Just in case they hadn’t heard it the first time, the Great Man hollered it again-“ Boooo! ”
The applause had stopped. Doyle was frowning at us. “And in this corner,” he said, “we have Mr. Phil Beaumont, from America.”
Behind me, the Great Man beat his hands together wildly. “ Hooray for Phil! ” he called out. The guests applauded politely again. Except for Cecily Fitzwilliam, who sat with her arms locked across her chest. Lady Purleigh leaned toward her.
“ Hooray! ” the Great Man shouted. I turned to him and under my breath I said, “Easy, Harry.”
He leaned toward me, grinning. Over the sound of his own clapping, he said, “It is the show business, Phil!”
He had been the first to start clapping and he was the last to stop.
“Gentlemen?” said Doyle, and waved Sir David and me into the ring. “Shake hands, please.”
Sir David offered his hand. I took it. He showed off his grip, but I’d been expecting that. He smiled at me. Blandly. “Any last words, Beaumont?” he asked me.
“I hear Miss Turner turned you down yesterday. Too bad.”
He didn’t stop smiling, but the skin at the corners of his eyes tightened up. He didn’t look at Miss Turner either, but I think he wanted to.
“Back to your corners, gentlemen,” said Doyle. “When the bell rings, come out fighting.”
I went back to my corner. The Great Man grinned and pounded me on the shoulder.
Overhead, the sky was pale blue, not a cloud anywhere. The bright clear air smelled of warming earth. Far off across the broad green lawn, one red squirrel went bounding after another.
Doyle had moved to the north side of the ring, close to Lord Bob and Lady Purleigh. I glanced around the crowd. Mrs. Corneille was watching me. So was Miss Turner. So was Cecily.
Cecily looked away.
Lady Purleigh raised the cowbell and struck it with the hammer.
I stepped out into the ring.
Sir David held himself upright, his handsome head and his broad shoulders thrown back, his arms up, the left arm forward, the left fist making small, tight, controlled circles. His right fist was cocked back under his chin. He advanced on his left foot, his right foot perpendicular to it, his weight balanced. He moved flatfooted but he still moved well. He had done this before.
I went to him in a crouch, shoulders down. We circled each other slowly. I smiled at him. Keeping my voice low, I said, “She must’ve hurt your feelings, hey, Davey?”
He jabbed his left at me and I slipped it. He followed me and jabbed again, off balance. I weaved right, faked a left at his jaw, hooked a right to his heart. He was backing off but I connected. He swung a right at my head. I caught it on my left forearm, and he pitched a left and I caught that on my right forearm and I jabbed two quick lefts at his nose. He brought up his arms and I got him with a combination, left, right, left, in the stomach. His nose was bleeding. He opened his mouth and dropped his arms and I went over them and I hooked another left at the nose. His head jerked back and his chin stuck out and I brought up my right with everything I had, brought it up at an angle from my hip, going for the ridge at the back of his jaw. I hit it and I felt a knuckle pop in my hand.