became clearer to Danby now. Had he proposed the dawn hour, the deserted place, for some quite other purpose of his own? Perhaps he and Nigel would arrive with other men, tie Danby up, and thrash him? He had heard of such things.
He put the glass down and came out into the main work shop. The windows were paler. He switched off the lights and could now see the nearer shore and the surface of the water gleaming and shifting in flakes of very pale yellowish grey. The opposite shore was veiled by a mist which seemed to quiver and vibrate, casting out a diffused yellow radiance which revealed the debris-strewn river bank below the printing works in a faint but horribly clear morning light. Danby shuddered.
He heard a sound behind him and jerked round. He had left the outer door open, as they had agreed. There were two figures on the other side of the room, one tall and thin, the other shorter, stouter.
”Oh,” said Danby, “good morning.” He did not like to turn the electric light on again. There was just enough illumination to recognize his visitors. His heart beat violently.
Will, who was carrying a large case under his arm, stayed by the doorway. Nigel came forward, tiptoeing or gliding across the floor. When he came up to the window Danby could see his face quite clearly.
”You’ve no one with you?”
”No. I thought I’d dispense with a second!”
”That’s a bit irregular, you know,” said Nigel. He stood for a moment staring at Danby. His face seemed stretched, beaming with a blissful excitement, the purple bruise still visible along the cheek and under the eye.
”Isn’t this all rather absurd?” said Danby in a loud voice. “I think we should forget it and go home. I can’t think why I came at all.”
Will moved forward from the door. He stopped about five paces away, put the case down on the level tray of one of the colour-printing machines, and looked at Danby with a gaze of cool intense hatred.
”All right,” said Danby. “Do what you like. Play out your little game. But let’s do it quickly. I want to get home.” He thought, this man is in the theatre, and yet he’s horribly in earnest too. I can’t get away now. If I tried to go he’d spring on me. At any rate there seemed to be only the two of them.
”Let’s go down then,” said Nigel. “The tide’s out, isn’t it? It was a good idea of yours to have it here.”
Danby opened the door. The cold water-scented air filled the doorway. He could smell the sea. He took a deep breath and went a little unsteadily down the steps, trailing his hand on the wall. He crossed the wharf and began to climb slowly down the iron ladder to the river shore. As he stepped off onto the yielding gravelly mud, he could see the large rubber-soled boots of Will on the upper rungs of the ladder.
The expanse of shore, some twenty feet from the base of the wall to the water, was quite clearly lit now by a light still faint but rather lurid which seemed to emanate from the curtain of mist which hung now at the centre of the river and arched over the shore, enclosing it in a capsule of bright haze. A quietness, which seemed also to be coming out of the mist, held the scene poised, and Danby was startled by the sound of his own footsteps moving over the rather sticky gravel. He stood staring at the water’s edge. The tide had not yet turned and the river was still running steadily downstream. A sleek line of mud was reflecting the yellowish light. Above it, the surface was more irregular, lumpy, stony, strewn with plastic bags and old motor tyres and bottles of green and clear glass and very pale smooth clean pieces of driftwood which the Thames had long had for her own. The clear glowing light made the littered scene seem over-precise, purposive, as if one had wandered suddenly into the very middle of a work of art.
Will was still standing beside the ladder, leaning the edge of the case against one of the rungs and fumbling with the clasp. Nigel, with the same lilting gliding motion, came over to Danby. The light fell on his face, which was strained into a semblance of an archaic smile.
”How would you like to proceed? Have you any special wishes?”
”Anything you like,” said Danby.
”There are various possibilities-“
”You decide. Only get on with it.”
”What Will wants is the system where you measure out twenty paces in the middle and draw a line on each side. Then you each stand another twenty paces behind the lines. After I give the word you can walk forward as far as the line and fire at any point before you reach it, or when you reach it. No order of firing, just fire when you want to.”
”Look, Nigel, can’t we call off this farce?” said Danby in a low voice. “Couldn’t Will and I just have a talk? I know how he feels-“
”Do you want to apologize to him?”
”No! I just mean a sort of civilized talk-“
”It’s” impossible. You don’t understand. Will couldn’t talk to you, he couldn’t.” Nigel had laid his hand on Danby’s arm. Nigel’s teeth were chattering.
”It’s all perfectly insane-“
”Wait here. I’ll just report to Will.”
Nigel’s footsteps, crunching, sucking, moved away over the gravel and Danby could hear the murmur of voices. He felt light-headed, a sensation as at the onset of extreme drunkenness. The lurid detailed scene seemed to be tilting a little sideways. Nigel was back beside him and was thrusting something into his hand.
”Here. You know how to fire a pistol, don’t you?”
Danby lifted his hand, which was holding a rather beautiful duelling pistol with a long slim barrel. The handle, very smooth and already warm in his hand, was made of a rich rosy-brown wood with a curly grain. The barrel and the butt end of the handle were ornamented with a flowery silver inlay. Danby stared with fascination at the strange weighty object.
”You sight along the barrel. Better keep a straight arm. It doesn’t kick much.”
”I trust you and your brother are enjoying yourselves,” said Danby. “It’s loaded. If you don’t want to hurt him fire well wide. Remember you don’t have to walk as far as the line.”
”You ought to be in films!”
Danby, who was well acquainted with revolvers and had sometimes played with pistols, examined his weapon. It was indeed loaded. A blank of course, but loaded. It appeared that the twins were going to carry their theatre scene through to the end.
”I’ll drop a handkerchief, and after that you can fire when you like.”
”All we need now is a surgeon!”
Nigel gave him the ecstatic beaming stare, giggled, and glided away.
The light was growing. Will had moved away on the other side of the iron ladder. Danby watched Nigel pacing the shore, making marks with pieces of driftwood. A chilly breeze had begun to blow and the mist had receded a little without yet revealing the other side of the river. Danby turned up the collar of his mackintosh. He thought, supposing this were all real and I was perhaps going to die. He thought, Lisa, where are you now.
”Back here please,” said Nigel. He motioned Danby back behind a line which he had scored in the stony mud. A long way ahead of him he could see the figure of Will, rigid, up right, compact, small, a focused pellet of menacing significance. He could see a blotch of purple which must be Will’s scarf, perhaps his shirt.
”Sixty paces between you,” said Nigel. “The next line is there, marked with driftwood, which you mustn’t cross, but you can fire before you reach it.” His hand touched the sleeve of Danby’s raincoat, gathered up some of the stuff and fingered it.
”I’m sorry I pushed you into that lamppost,” said Danby. “I didn’t mean to.” A very fine misty rain had begun to fall. Nigel’s black hair was filmed over with glittering pinheads of rain.
”That’s all right. Good luck. If you fire first, stand side ways, there’s less risk. The light’s still a bit uncertain, he’ll probably miss you.”
Nigel moved away. This performance is designed to frighten me, thought Danby. They want me to break down, lose my nerve, beg them to stop, run away. It’s all ridiculous. But all the same he found that he was trembling.
Nigel had returned to the middle point, halfway between Will and Danby. He was flourishing a white handkerchief above his head. The two lines marking the twenty paces in the centre were plainly marked with wood. A boat on the river hooted distantly. The handkerchief fluttered to the ground.
Will had begun to walk very slowly forward, carefully lifting his pistol with outstretched arm and gazing along the barrel. Danby stared. Then as if compelled by a magnetic line of force stretched between himself and his opponent he began to move too. His heart seemed to be pounding and rattling at an incoherent speed. He put his
