be?â
Bentleyâs voice was flat and firm. He leant forward.
âA chest shot.â
It was his final offer and Macleod knew it. It was Bentleyâs turn to sit back and wait now. He, like Macleod, fully accepted that negotiations needed time to reach a conclusion satisfactory to both parties. The lawyerâs brain turned. If Darcy really was important to the American Government he couldnât kill him. But was he important? He knew Bentley had powerful friends and not a few connections in or close to the Government. So far as he knew, Bentley had no personal or business reasons for protecting Darcy. But Darcy had to be stamped on. Perhaps Bentleyâs suggestion had merit. Duels were frowned on now, and a killing, even an honour killing, could become a messy business if it became too public.
âItâll only work if he shoots face on. Itâs no good if he stands sideways to fire.â
âWhy?â
âBecause if heâs standing face on when my ball goes into his chest it will either go through him or lodge and if heâs lucky it wonât cause any real problem. But if heâs side on it could go through the lung and maybe go on to hit his heart or some vital artery. I couldnât say where it might finish nor that it wouldnât be fatal.â
Bentley considered.
âAnd thereâs no way round that? Couldnât you reduce the charge, lessen the penetration?â
Macleod laughed dismissively.
âHave you forgotten everything you were ever taught in the army, man? If I reduce the charge enough to do that it would mean loss of accuracy, and if the ball strayed it might go anywhere. Hell, it might hit him on that thick head of his and bounce off and then the fool might even get a shot at me. No, the only sure way is for him to stand face on. Do you know if he has fought a duel with pistols before?â
Bentley shook his head.
âNo, but I would doubt very strongly that he has.â
âThen heâll almost certainly stand side on, itâs the natural stance for shooting. Only duellists stand front on. If they get hit they want the ball to lodge or go through.â
âAnd if he stood face on you could do it, for sure?â
Macleod threw the blanket off his legs and kicked the footstool to one side. He pulled off his night-cap, threw it down onto the blanket and stood up.
âCome, Iâll let you judge for yourself.â
Macleod picked up the lamp from the table and led the way out of the library. They went through a door under the main staircase and down some stone steps. Below the house was a large cellar that had once been, among other things, the wine store, but now had been converted into a shooting gallery. Macleod put the lamp on a table, took off his dressing gown and hung it on a hook in the wall, lit a taper, then walked around the cellar lighting lamps set on the walls. He returned to the table and began to prepare a pistol. He nodded to a box on the table amongst the bits and pieces. It was about six inches by four and two inches deep. It contained flints.
âEmpty that box and take it down to the other end of the gallery.â
Bentley looked at the box then at Macleod.
âWhat for?â
âThis is business, Bentley, so think like a businessman. If I tell you I can hit Darcy in the chest and not kill him, are you just going to take my unsupported word for it?â
Bentley understood Macleodâs point.
âI guess not.â
They both knew there was only one way to be sure.
âThen take the box.â
Bentley picked up the box, emptied out the flints, then walked slowly down the gallery. When he turned, the distance between them was about the same as in a duel and Lawyer Macleod was already pointing his pistol at him. Bentley felt a cold sweat form on his brow. No one knew of his visit to Macleodâs house and Macleod had already guessed that was the case. There was no one in the house except
Learning to Kill: Stories