My father paused to adjust a wrinkle in his coat, and then his voice became solemn and sonorous, and he spoke the words with metrical precision.

"'To everything'," said my father, "there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born and a time to die'."

He paused long enough to nod from one to the other.

"'A time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted'."

He raised his eyes to the ceiling again, and placed the tips of his fingers together.

"And 'a time to kill'," he concluded gently. His words died softly away in the quiet room.

"I have often thought of that pa.s.sage," he continued. "Many and many a night I have repeated it to myself, under stars and under roof, and sometimes I have prayed, Jason. Oh yes, we all pray sometimes. Sometimes I have prayed for the time to come."

The red had gone out of my uncle's face, and Mr. Lawton was sitting rigid in his chair, his eyes glued on the slender figure before him.

"And now," said my father, in a tone that was as near to the pious as I ever heard him utter, "now it is here, and I thank thee, Lord."

"Good G.o.d!" gasped Mr. Lawton, in a voice that rose only a little above a whisper. "Do you mean to murder us?"

My father still stood motionless, but when he spoke again his voice had relapsed to its old genial courtesy.

"What a word for gentlemen to use!" he exclaimed in polite rebuke.

"Murder you? Of course not, Lawton. I am simply about to propose a game.

That is all, an exciting little game. Only one of us will die. Clear the large table of the papers, Ned. Toss them on the floor."

XVII

Of all the people in the room, my father alone retained his self-possession. My uncle's cheeks had sagged, and perspiration made them moist and shiny, and Mr. Lawton seemed bent and as wrinkled as though he had aged a dozen years.

"Brutus," said my father, "place the pistols on the table, the ones I gave you as we came on sh.o.r.e. Side by side, Brutus. The silver mountings look well against the dark mahogany. Do they not cheer you, Jason? And now, Brutus, a pack of cards from the bookshelves. It will be a pretty game, Lawton, as pretty a game as you have ever played."

"Good G.o.d! What are you going to do, Shelton?" stammered Mr. Lawton, and he raised a trembling hand to his forehead.

"You grow interested?" my father inquired. "I thought you would, Lawton, and now stand up and listen! And you too, Jason. Stand up, you dog! Stand up! The world is still rolling. Are you ill?"

And indeed, my uncle seemed incapable of moving.

"Perhaps you would prefer to sit," said my father politely. "I have known people who find it steadies them to fire across the table while seated in a chair. Your attention, then, and I will tell you the game. On the table are three pistols. One of them is loaded. The question is--which? They are all made by the same smith. And yet one is different.

We shall find out which it is in a few minutes. Shuffle the cards, Lawton. You and Jason shall draw. The low number selects the first pistol, and is first to fire, and then the next. I shall take the last pistol, and we shall stand across the table, you and Jason where you are, while I stand over here. Brutus, give the cards to Mr. Lawton."

My father smiled and bowed. From his manner it might have been some treat he was proposing, some pleasant bit of sport that all knew ended in hilarity. Still smiling, he glanced from one to the other, and then towards Mademoiselle and me, as though seeking our approbation. Even with his bandaged arm and weather stained clothes, he carried himself with a gaiety and grace.

"Always trust in chance, my son," he said.

My uncle leaned forward, and drew his hand across his lips, his eyes blank and staring.

"And if you get the pistol?" he demanded hoa.r.s.ely.

"In that case," replied my father, "Your troubles will be over, Jason.

Pray rest a.s.sured--I shall attend to that. And then, when that is finished Brutus shall bring two other pistols, and Lawton and I shall draw again."

Mr. Lawton grasped the cards uncertainly.

"You give us the first two choices?" he demanded.

"The host naturally is last," said my father. "One must always be polite."

"Then you're mad," said Mr. Lawton bluntly. "Come, Shelton, step outside, and we'll finish it on the lawn."

"And I should undoubtedly kill you," said my father. "Pray do not tempt me, Lawton."

"I tell you, you're mad," said Mr. Lawton.

"I have been told that once before today," said my father. "And still I am not sure. I have often pictured this little scene, Lawton. We have only one thing to add to it. Now tell me if I'm mad."

My father had reached up to his throat, and was fumbling at his collar.

When he drew away his hand, something glittered between his fingers.

Silently he placed his closed fist on the table, opened it, and there was the gold locket which I had perceived in the morning. He pressed the spring, and the lid flew free. Mr. Lawton leaned forward, glanced at the picture inside, and then drew back very straight and pale.

"Come, Lawton," said my father gravely. "Which is it now--madness or an appeal for justice and retribution? With her picture on the table, Lawton, I have wondered--I have often wondered, Lawton--who will be the lucky man to draw the loaded pistol? Let us leave it there, where we can watch it before we fire. I have often thought that she would like it so.

And now--" he nodded again and smiled,--"surely you will oblige me.

Shuffle the cards, Lawton, and let the game go on."

Mr. Lawton bit his lower lip, fingered the cards uncertainly, and then tossed them in the fire.

"Come, come, Lawton," said my father sharply. "Where are your manners?

Surely you are not afraid, not afraid of a picture, Lawton?"

"No," said Mr. Lawton, "I am not afraid."

"Ah," said my father, "I thought I knew you better. Another pack of cards for Mr. Lawton, Brutus. Let us trust, Lawton, that these will suit you better."

"You misunderstand me," said Mr. Lawton simply. "I am not going to play."

"Not going to play?" exclaimed my father, raising his eyebrows.

Slowly Mr. Lawton shook his head.

"You are far too generous, Shelton," he said. "If you shot me where I stand, you would only be giving me my fair deserts. If I had been in your place and you in mine, both you and Jason would have been dead ten seconds after I had entered the door."

"Don't be a fool, Lawton," cried my father, raising his hand. "Think what you are saying!"

"I have thought," he replied sharply. "The game is over, Shelton, and I know when I am beaten. We have not got the paper, Jason, and you remember what I said. If you failed to get it, I should tell the whole story, and now, by heaven, I will. Every man in town will know it tomorrow morning.

I told you I would be shut out of this business, and I mean it, Jason."