LORD OF MANY SECRETS

FORTY SIX

Mr Fritzwa, breakfasting in his lodgings in Cork Street the following morning, wore an unusually sober expression on his face, and when his man came in to inform him that a gentleman had called he got up from the table with a sigh and a shake of his head.

The gentleman's card, which Mr Fritzwa held between his finger and thumb, told him very little. The name was unknown to him, and the address, which was a street in the labyrinth lying between Northumberland House and St Peter's Square, did not impress him favorably.

Captain Craddock was ushered into the room, and Mr Fritzwa, with a shrewdness belied by his cherubic countenance, instantly decided that his military rank was self-bestowed. He was displeased. He had been brought up by a careful father with a nice regard for etiquette, and one glance at Captain Craddock was sufficient to convince him that he was not one whom any gentleman would desire to have for a second in an affair of honor.

The first duty of a second was seek a reconciliation. But it was evident that Captain Craddock had no such thought in mind. He came only to arrange a place and a time of meeting, and to choose on behalf of his principal pistols for weapons.

To this Mr Fritzwa agreed, but when the Captain, assuming Mr Ferdinand to have been the injured party, stipulated for a range of twenty five yards he unhesitatingly refused to consent to it. Such a range must be all in favor of the more experienced duelist, and however many wafers Patrick might be able to culp at Mantis Galeria, Mr Fritzwa felt reasonably certain that he had not before been engaged in an actual duel.

He would not consent, and upon the Captain's attempting to take a high hand with him, said bluntly that he could by no means agree that Mr Ferdinand was the injured party. Sir Patrick had indeed struck the first and only blow, but the provocation had been strong.

After some argument the Captain gave way on this point, and a range of twelve yards was agreed to. There could be no further hope of reconciliation. Mr Fritzwa, well versed in the Code of Honor, was aware that no apology could be extended or recieved after a blow, and Captain Craddock's attitude now convinced him that, however much Mr Ferdinand might know himself to have been in the wrong, no dependence could be placed on his tacitly acknowledging it on the ground by eloping, or firing into the air.

When Captain Craddock had been shown out of the room Mr Fritzwa did not immediately resume his interrupted meal, but stood instead staring gloomily into the fire. Though not particularly acquainted with Mr Ferdinand, he knew him a little by repute. The man was a hanger-on to the fringes of society, and was generally to be seen in the company of raw young men of fortune. His reputation was not good. Nothing was precisely known against him, but he had been mixed up in more than one discreditable affair, and was known to be a c***k shot. Mr Fritzwa did not anticipate a fatal outcome to the following day's meeting. The consequences would be too serious, he thought, but he was not perfectly at his ease. Ferdinand had not been drunk, nor had there been the least sign of foul play in the c**k-Pit. It looked suspiciously as though this quarrel had been thrust on Patrick. Yet he could find no object in it, and was forced to conclude that he was indulging a mere flight of fancy.

As soon as he had finished his breakfast he picked up his hat and gloves and set out to walk the short distance to Spear Street. Arriving at the Tellaros' house he sent in his name and was taken immediately upstairs to Patrick's bedroom.

Patrick was still engaged in the arduous task of dressing, and was anxiously arranging his cravat when Mr Fritzwa came in. He said cheerfully, "sit down, Fritz, and don't move, don't speak till I'm done with this neck clothe!"

Mr Fritzwa obeyed, choosing a chair from which he could observe his friend's struggles. Having guessed that the next morning's meeting would be Patrick's first, he was very well satisfied with his careless unconcern. It was evident that he would have nothing to blush for in his principal, the lad was game as a pebble. He was not to know with what desperate courage Patrick had forced himself to utter his cheerful greeting, nor how many sleepless hours he had spent during the night.

The cravat being at last adjusted Patrick dismissed his valet, and turned. "Well, have you arranged it all, Fritz?" he asked.

"Tomorrow at eight, Alessandrino Green", said Mr Fritzwa briefly. "I'll call you".

Patrick had the oddest sensation that none of this was really happening. He heard his own voice, surprisingly steady, say, "Alessandrino Green? Is that near Parco Tor?"

Mr Fritzwa nodded. "Are you a good shot, Parte? The fellow's chosen pistols".

"You have seen me at Mattie's - or have you not?"

"I haven't seen you at Mattie's, but I've seen Ferdinand", said Mr Fritzwa rather grimly. "You'll keep a cool head, won't you, Parte, and remember it's everything to be quick off the mark?"

There was an unpleasant dryness in Patrick's mouth, but he said with a good attempt at nonchalance, "of course. I shan't aim to kill him, however".

"No, don't", agreed Mr Fritzwa. "Not that I think he means to make it a killing matter either. I can't see why he should. He'd have to make a bolt for it if he did, and I fancy that wouldn't suit him. What are you doing today?"

Patrick achieved a shrug of the shoulders. "Oh, the usual round, my dear fellow! I am engaged to dine at the Star, I believe. I daresay we shall look in at the play, and sup at the Piazzra afterward".

"You'll do", said Mr Fritzwa approvingly. "But see it ain't a boozy party, and don't sit up too late. I'm off to engage a surgeon now. I daresay we shan't need him, but he'll have to be there. I like that waistcoat you have on".