Craig put his hand gently on her mouth.
'Just why is he so mad at you, son?' asked Turner.
'I can't tell you,' Craig said. 'But he's got a right to be. And he means to use that right. Here and now.'
'But he's a nut,' said Turner. 'I wouldn't fight any nuts.'
'I'm afraid I shall have to. Just stay where you are, Mr. Turner, and whatever happens, don't interfere.' 'Why not?'
'You're much too bad a shot.'
Craig grinned at him and went to La Valere.
'I'm ready,' he said.
La Valere shouted, and Ashford, Pucelli, the Indochi-nese girl, and Duclos came in. Pucelli and Duclos both carried pistols, and pushed the girl toward the others at the kitchen bar. She looked sick, her pale-gold skin had turned olive, and her hand was at her mouth.
'Why's Ashford here?' Craig asked.
'He is your second,' said La Valere, and Duclos laughed aloud.
'You share everything with this man, don't you, Ricky darling? The good times and the bad.'
Ashford said nothing. He was weeping.
Sophie whimpered softly and Turner said, 'What the hell goes on?'
La Valere said, 'I am sorry to break up your party.' Once again, his voice was completely serious. 'But this must be done. You will all stay quite still until I return, please. This man'-he nodded at Duclos-'will be with you. If you try to overpower him, he has orders to shoot one of the women. You.' He pointed at Sophie. 'Come here.' Slowly, reluctantly, she obeyed. Then she shivered as the muzzle of Duclos's revolver touched her neck. Pucelli opened Craig's coat, took the Woodsman from him, and put it on the table.
'This gun will not do,' said La Valere. 'You will be provided with a weapon when we get outside. It will be exacdy the same as mine. We will see that you are given every chance. Do you wish to say anything?' Craig shook his head.
'As you please,' La Valere said. 'We will go outside.'
They went out into the moonlight, taking Ashford with them. Now was Craig's time to die. He had lived too long on other men's sufferings: even St. Briac, whose death he had caused, had suffered because of him. It was right that St. Briac should die, but it was right that Craig should die, too. Tessa and his wife were both provided for, and once he and Ashford had been killed, Sophie and the others would be safe. Ashford alone stayed on his mind. Ashford loved this Gothic madman.
La Valere stopped by the path of drippings.
'This should do admirably,' he said.
Pucelli said, 'Shall I give him the gun?'
'Of course,' said La Valere. Pucelli laid a pistol in front of Craig, then stepped back, covering Ashford with a big Mauser automatic.
'Let me do it. We are wasting time,' Pucelli said.
'No. This is my business. Do as I tell you.'
Pucelli shrugged, but his gun stayed unwaveringly on Ashford.
It made no difference, Craig thought. He would- what was the word?-delope into the air.
'Pick up the pistol.' Craig obeyed.
'Back to back,' said La Valere, and again Craig obeyed. 'Ten paces, then we turn and fire. We walk when I say go. I shall count the steps. Ready? Go. One- two-three-'
Craig heard the crunch of footsteps up the gravel path. Ashford would die next. Now it was his turn. Grierson would not come looking for vengeance; Grierson was a professional. Less good with a gun, but infinitely more amenable to orders. Four-five-six-Tessa would weep for him; his wife might soon die. If she lived, she would have more than enough. And Tessa-he had left her everything the gun-running had brought. Money by the sackful; and sorrow. Too much sorrow to waste on Craig.
Seven-eight-he was by the fountain, where Turner had shot so badly. A nice man. Bored. Drank too much. But happy with a Negro chauffeur and a Filipino cook and the most expensive hangers-on in the Cote d'Azur. Nine- ten-There was something missing, Craig thought. He could hear no footsteps other than his own. A man's voice, Ashford's, screamed out in an agony of shame and love: 'Bobby. No. You mustn't.'
Craig swirled in a descending spiral, and a bullet whipped through the air, where a moment before his back had been. La Valere was already facing him, walking toward him, sighting for a second shot, as he rolled toward the cover of the fountain. From the corner of his eye, Craig could see Ashford watching them in horror. He reached the fountain's shadow, remembering the promise he had given that La Valere would not be hurt. He hadn't realized then what La Valere would do. Carefully, precisely, his finger squeezed the trigger of the gun La Valere had given him. It clicked emptily, and Ashford screamed out again, 'No, Bobby! No!' and ran toward them. La Valere yelled to him to go back, but Ashford kept on running toward the only creature in the world he loved, the only one whose shame, whose betrayal of trust he could not bear.
Ashford's rush carried him between Craig and La Valere, and Craig rolled beneath the fountain's shell, gasping as his injured finger smashed into its base. Pucelli yelled a warning as Craig's hand clawed up, seeking, finding the gun he had hidden. His fingers curled to it as La Valere fired, and Ashford screamed for the last time, then fell like a tree at La Valere's feet. Craig watched him fall, but his mind refused to accept it. He could think of nothing except that La Valere had cheated him, given him an empty pistol. He reminded himself that madmen improvised their own rules as they went along. Then La Valere fired again, and a bullet spanged off the fountain's disastrous bowl, inches from his head. To his right, Pucelli was maneuvering for position, waiting to finish things off, and Pucelli had a Mauser automatic that could fire off a whole magazine of bullets like a miniature machine gun. Slowly, with extreme care, Craig aimed at La Valere and shot him through the heart. When he died, his face expressed intense astonishment.
Pucelli began firing as soon as La Valere dropped. Heavy-caliber bullets raked the fountain, and Craig crouched by the pedestal and heard them go by. He lay very still, and a minute passed so quietly that he could hear his watch tick. Pucelli shot once more, and again the bullet was close and Craig did not move. At last Pucelli stood up and came out from cover, moving warily, his hands on the twin butts of the Mauser. Craig fired as Pucelli reached the path. It was the best shot of his life. The bullet slammed into Pucelli's arm, and the big Mauser dropped to the ground. Craig got to his feet. Pucelli stood swaying in front of him and when Craig stooped and picked up the gun, he just continued to sway. Craig could feel the great waves of weakness flowing over him as he willed himself to go on.
'You're a fool,' he croaked. 'An idiot. If you'd played fair, I was going to die. You stupid bastards. Why did you have to cheat me?'
Pucelli held his hand to his arm.
'I didn't want this,' he said. 'I was going to kill you myself. The duel was La Valere's idea. He was a gentleman.' He spat the word.
Craig said, 'We'll go to the house and you'll talk to Duclos. Don't argue about it. Just do it.'
Pucelli looked into Craig's eyes, and obeyed. The alternative was death.
Duclos felt wonderful. Pretty girls, important men, were at her mercy. A black man and a brown man were humble and obedient, as was right and proper. His gun was his symbol of power, his sceptor, and so long as he held it everyone obeyed him. That was good; wonderful. And he held it pointed at a girl. That was even more wonderful. When the shots came and everyone looked up, all Duclos had to do was lift the gun a couple of centimeters, and they were still, obedient once more. The gun was a wonderful thing. And La Valere's idea of a duel, maybe that wasn't so stupid after all. The gun had been used with dignity, with an awareness of form and ritual. Surely a ritual was needed when a man as wicked as Craig came to die. Duclos's hand moved, and the gun muzzle touched Sophie's throat, ran along her shoulder, traced the round, right outline of her breast. Life could be very kind to him sometimes.
Behind him, Pucelli's voice said, 'All right, Duclos. You can come out now. The captain wants you.'
Duclos sighed, and backed away from the girl very carefully. The good times never lasted very long. Suddenly the girl's face changed: there was amazement in it, and a rising happiness. Far too late, Duclos began to turn. Something hard exploded on the back of his neck and he fell, twitched once, and was still.
Turner said, 'You've bought me, son. Any time, anywhere. Just name it.'
