The Heart That Lies by April Munday Page B

said or done in his company. “There has been nothing to misinterpret.”
    “Why else would he risk his own life?” asked Finch helplessly.
    “I don’t know, but it’s not because I’ve said or done anything inappropriate.”
    “ Before you thought the French...?”
    “It crossed my mind.”
    “But it’s so convoluted and uncertain. He’s only a boy.”
    “Who has been less than truthful about who he is and where he’s from.”
    “Yes. I did ask some questions about him and no one knows him. We agreed he was dangerous, we just didn’t realise he would be dangerous for you.”
    “Will you be my second?”
    Meldon was aware that Finch hadn’t indicated his willingness to fulfil that rôle , despite his offer to talk to Smith.
    “Of course. Meldon, I didn’t mean to insult you, I know you better than that, but it just makes no sense.”
    Meldon was relieved that Finch seemed to be back on his side, but he was right; Smith must be insane.
     
    The next morning Finch arrived at Meldon House a few minutes before Smith. Meldon had agreed to keep out of the way so that Finch could talk to Smith alone and try to talk him out of the duel. If that could not be achieved, Meldon would choose swords.
    “He doesn’t fence,” said Finch despondently when Meldon joined him in the drawing-room after Smith had left.
    “Pistols it is, then.”
    “Don’t joke, Meldon. If he’s as good a shot as he seems to think he is, you won’t stand a chance.”
    “No one’s as good a shot as they think they are.”
    “Some men practise in the same way that you practise with your wretched knife.”
    Meldon knew that Finch was such a man. He also knew that his friend practised with his own knife.
    “Do you think he practises?”
    Finch nodded. “He was frightened, but confident.”
    “Perhaps he’ll be less confident when he’s looking down the barrel of my pistol.”
    “Meldon, this is a mess.”
    “I’ve fought duels before.”
    “With a sword. God knows why, but you’re better with a sword than a pistol.”
    “ Because a sword is an extension of oneself and a pistol is just something that you hold in your hand.” This was the only explanation that Meldon had ever come up with to explain his complete lack of skill with a pistol.
    “Then y ou’d better start thinking of your pistol as an extension of yourself before tomorrow morning.”
    “Does he have a suggestion for a referee?”
    “No. He leaves it in your hands , since he knows so few people in London. He said the strangest thing. He said that you were a man of honour and would choose wisely.”
    “That doesn’t sound like a man with a grudge.”
    “No. It sounds more like a French agent, but such a man would have to be honourable himself.” Finch examined his nails while he let the thought sink in. Meldon could make no sense of it. “I thought Lord Philpott,” he continued.
    “Hmm?”
    “For the referee?”
    It was a good choice and Meldon said so.
    “I’ll go to him when I leave here.” Finch paused. “Meldon, I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Smith what would happen if you apologised.”
    “I don’t mind,” said Meldon. “It’s your job as my second to protect me against myself.”
    “Hmm. He said he would not accept an apology.”
    “We said as much yesterday.”
    “I know, but the strange thing was the way he said it. As if he didn’t want to fight you , almost as if he’d hoped that you would apologise to give him an excuse to back out of it, even knowing that he wouldn’t accept it.”
    Meldon thought for a while, but could not work it out. Eventually he shook his head.
    “Go and see Philpott,” he said. “Then perhaps we could go somewhere where I can practise with a pistol, or just get very drunk.”
     
    When he arrived with Finch and Perkins at the place appointed for the duel, Meldon was horrified to see that Smith was alone. He stood in the small clearing on Wimbledon Common, looking towards the carriage. Meldon would