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lawyer. But that was all right because within six months, a year at the most, he could stop playing at being one. Bentley was pleased that his little bit of theatre had so completely taken in someone as sharp as Lawyer Macleod. Bentley’s mind turned to another matter. Darcy alive, yes, but what about Darcy with a neat hole in him? Nothing fatal of course, just a neat hole. That might be no bad thing, no bad thing at all, and it could kill two birds with one stone. If Macleod could be made to wound Darcy to order, in a duel say, it would prove that he had Macleod just where he wanted him. Secondly it would make a point to Darcy. Bentley knew that Darcy had been jockeying for a better position in the matter of the new business venture, and Darcy might indeed be the fool Macleod rated him if he had thought he could keep his little intrigue a secret. Yes, that would all fit together nicely. Macleod would put a hole in Darcy and afterwards Bentley would visit him and make it quite clear that his little scheme was known and if he tried anything like it again the next pistol ball he took would be straight in the back of his head.
    Macleod waited patiently. He knew Bentley was working out what he would demand and he was prepared to let him take his time. Negotiation, even on such an unimportant matter as the killing of a coxcomb, never benefited from being hurried. Bentley was nearly ready. He was considering the one final detail. A wounded Darcy was one thing, a dead Darcy was quite another. A dead Darcy would need to be replaced and that would take time and there wasn’t time. Bentley’s problem was, how good a shot was Macleod these days? Could he be relied upon to put a hole in Darcy in the right place, the shoulder say, or the lung? Stomach wounds were unpredictable, anything might happen with a stomach wound. Could Macleod be relied upon to put a ball in Darcy without killing him? It was a tricky proposition.
    â€˜A wound perhaps? What if you just wounded him?’
    â€˜Shoot a man in the body and he can die just as surely as shooting him in the head. It may take longer and be more painful that’s all. You saw that as much as I in the war. Men brought in with wounds that looked nothing at all and they were screaming in days and dead in a week. Others came in with their legs blown off and finished up with stumps, but alive. If I kill him I’ll make it clean.’
    â€˜What about a chest shot? A ball in the lung can be dealt with,’ he paused, ‘especially if the doctor’s ready for it.’ He continued in a matter of fact way. ‘It’s amazing what doctors can do these days compared with twenty years ago. Why, Professor McDonald told me only the other day that he is quite sure that one day they will find a way of controlling even things like smallpox. It’s just theory of course and, between you and me, it’ll never happen. He was just talking things up and trying to get a donation out of me for his research. But he’s right in one way. They can do things now that would have seemed miracles when you and I were soldiering.’ Bentley thought for a moment and then an idea struck him. Oh my, he loved it when things came together. Yes sir, he just loved it. ‘In fact, if McDonald was persuaded to be the doctor at the duel and he was told that the likely outcome was a chest or shoulder wound, I do believe he’d be just the man to make sure no lasting damage was done. If McDonald could have a wounded man up and about before too long, not fully mended of course, but maybe able to travel, why I might believe he was just the sort of medical man I should be making a fair-sized donation to. When I have confidence in a man I’m prepared to back that confidence with cold cash. Yes indeed, a donation and a handsome one.’
    Macleod became impatient of Bentley’s rambling and broke into his visitor’s monologue.
    â€˜Well, man, what’s it to