Valiant went with them to the outer door. A painful thought was flooding his mind. It hampered his speech and it was only by a violent effort that he found voice:

“One moment! There is a question I would like to ask.”

Both gentlemen had turned upon the steps and as they faced him he thought a swift glance passed between them. They waited courteously, the doctor with his habitual frown, the major’s hand fumbling for the black ribbon on his waistcoat.

“Since I came here, I have heard”—his tone was uneven—“of a duel in which my father was a principal. There was such a meeting?”

“There was,” said the doctor after the slightest pause of surprise. “Had you known nothing of it?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

The major cleared his throat. “It was something he might naturally not have made a record of,” he said. “The two had been friends, and it—it was a fatal encounter for the other. The doctor and I were your father’s seconds.”

There was a moment’s silence before Valiant spoke again. When he did his voice was steady, though drops had sprung to his forehead. “Was there any circumstance in that meeting that might be construed as reflecting on his—honor?”

“Good God, no!” said the major explosively.

“On his bearing as a gentleman?”

There was a hiatus this time in which he could hear his heart beat. In that single exclamation the major seemed to have exhausted his vocabulary. He was looking at the ground. It was the doctor who spoke at last, in a silence that to the man in the doorway weighed like a hundred atmospheres.

“No!” he said bluntly. “Certainly not. What put that into your head?”

When he was alone in the library Valiant opened the glass door and took from the shelf the morocco case. The old shiver of repugnance ran over him at the very touch of the leather. In the farthest corner was a low commode. He set the case on this and moved the big tapestry screen across the angle, hiding it from view.

The major and the doctor walked in silence till they had left Damory Court far behind them. Then the doctor observed caustically, “Nice graceful little act of yours, yanking that infernal pistol out before his face like that!”

“How in Sam Hill could I guess?” the other retorted. “It’s long enough since I saw that old case. I—I brought it there myself, Southall—that very morning, immediately after the meeting. To think of its lying there untouched in that empty room all these years!”

There was another silence. “How straight he put the question to us! Right out from the shoulder, for all the world like his father. Well, you said the right thing. There are times when a gentleman simply has to lie like one.”

The doctor shut his teeth with a snap, as though he had caught a rabbit. “Look here, Bristow,” he said hotly, “I’ve never cared a hang what your opinions of Valiant were after that duel. I’ll keep my own.”

“Oh, all right,” rejoined the major. “But let’s be honest with ourselves. If you could split a silver dollar nine times out of ten at fifteen paces, would you exchange shots with a man who was beside himself with liquor?”

“If Valiant was a dead shot, the better for him,” said the doctor grimly. “If Sassoon was drunk, so much the worse for Sassoon. His condition was the affair of his seconds. Valiant was no more responsible for it than for the quarrel. Neither was of his making. Just because a man is a crack shot and stays sober, is he to bear any insult—stand up to be shot at into the bargain—and take no hand in the game himself? Answer me that?”

“It didn’t touch his honor, of course,” replied the major. “We could all agree on that. He was within his rights. But it wasn’t like a Valiant.”

They were at the parting now and the major held out his hand. “Oh, well,” he said, “it’s long enough ago, and there’s nothing against his son. I like the young chap, Southall. He’s his father all over again, eh?”

“When I first saw him,” said the doctor huskily, “I thought I had slid back thirty years and that our old Beauty Valiant was lying there before me. I loved him, Bristow, and somehow—whatever happened that day at the Hemlocks—it couldn’t make a damned bit of difference to me!”