Collis cleared his throat. He felt as if he were someone else altogether. His chest was tight and he couldn’t find a way to release the pressure. The wind blew fretfully all around him, and a flock of terns allowed themselves to be tossed out over the ruffled surface of the lake like the thrown-away pages of a tragic letter.

‘No,’ Collis said. ‘I won’t withdraw.’

‘You’re adamant?’

‘I said no. Does no have any other meaning?’

Grant licked his lips. ‘Very well. Then I must ask Mr Snaith to give you a choice of pistols.’

Mr Snaith unclipped the catch and raised the lid of the mahogany box. He walked across the grass towards Collis and presented its contents with a face that was almost too grim to be taken seriously. If Collis hadn’t been so nervous, he probably would have laughed. He examined the box and wished the whole goddam business were over.

Nestling in green velvet were two long-barrelled pistols with varnished wooden handles. They were not at all decorative, and they smelled of thin oil. A brass plate on the side of the box said ‘Lafoucheux’.

Mr Snaith said, ‘Please choose one, Mr Edmonds. They are both loaded, and they both fire only one round each.’

Collis lifted the upper pistol out. He held it awkwardly, feeling the coldness and the weight of it. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I’ll take this one.’

Mr Snaith crossed back towards Grant Melford, and Grant took out the second pistol. The doctor, on his chilly embankment, started to cough again. It was two minutes after seven in the morning, and Collis was beginning to feel like going behind a hedge and relieving himself. It was bad enough fighting a duel without having a pain in the bladder as well.

Mr Snaith closed his box. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said in his clipped Boston accent, ‘I crave your attention for one moment only. The rules are that you should each walk twenty paces away, turn, and fire whenever you wish. That is all. May God have mercy on you.’

Collis looked down at his pistol. ‘I don’t even know how to fire the damned thing,’ he muttered to Dan McReady. ‘What do I do?’

Dan McReady pinched the cigarette out from between his lips with his finger and thumb. ‘That’s a Lafoucheux,’ he said. ‘They’re specially made for duelling, and they’re bastards. You only have to tickle their triggers and they’re off. So don’t, whatever you do, put your finger anywhere near the trigger until you’re aimed and ready to fire.’

‘I’m terrified,’ said Collis. ‘You know that? I’m damn well terrified.’