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her of a young puppy, full of bounce and enthusiasm.  Already he was
unpacking his precious new guns and running through their points, oblivious
that no-one was really listening.
    “What
will it be?” Lambert asked Carleton, “Best of five?  What about the five of
spades then?”
    “What’s
the wager?”
    Men,
thought Frances crossly to herself, everything had to be a wager.  “I can’t
afford more than a few guineas” she spoke up firmly.
    “That’s
alright,” Carleton stepped in smoothly.  “I’ve a hundred here that says you’ll
win.”
    Lambert
grinned “Right then, here’s another hundred that says he won’t.  No hard
feelings I hope Francis but I’ve seen Harry shoot before.”
    “Who
will go first?”
    “One
after the other?  A shot at a time?”
    The
two rivals agreed rather dazedly to their sponsors’ arrangements.  Carleton
noticed the serious look on Peter’s face and said cheerfully, “Don’t worry lad,
it’s not your money!”  Frances scarcely glanced at him, that’s what was making
her nervous.
    Harry
grinned across at her and fired his first shot into the black of the top left
spade.  Frances aimed carefully but nerves got the better of her and the
resulting hole was at least half into the white.  The other man relaxed a
fraction and hit the next spade but not quite as neatly as before.  Frances
shook her head, took two deep breaths to relax her concentration, and shot
straight into the centre of her target. Harry followed up with another three
good shots but Frances interspersed each with a perfect centre.  The attendant
went down to the end of the room to collect the cards while Frances and Harry
waited anxiously.
    Lambert
and Carleton studied the two records closely. “What do you think? This one is a
bit out but all the others are dead on target.  These are close, though not
completely in the middle – bad luck Harry,” Lambert concluded eventually, “but
I think Francis has beaten you.  Here, see for yourself.”
    Belmont
glanced at the cards then said generously, “Yes indeed.  The first shot was
obviously a slip. Damned fine shooting Francis.”  He held out his hand and
Frances shook it firmly, flushing a little with self consciousness.
    “Good
of you,” she murmured.  She offered her pistol for his inspection. “Like to
try?”
    He
took it with interest and for the next few minutes they exchanged avid
information and ideas on what made the best weapon, Harry agreeing that hers
certainly seemed to have a true line.
    Carleton
looked at the two heads close together with an odd twinge of jealousy. 
Nonsense, he told himself, the lad’s got a right to more friends than just you. 
He took the money Lambert was cheerfully paying out with some satisfaction – it
was a while since he had got the better of Jack in a sporting venture.  “Here
you are Peter, half of this should be yours,” he handed him fifty guineas and
smilingly ignored his half-hearted protest.  The four of them spent a further
half hour at the pistol range practising and trying to persuade Francis to show
them some trick shots.  Eventually Lambert remembered that he was engaged for
dinner that night on the other side of town and had to leave.  Belmont also
made his farewells after extracting a promise from Frances to meet him at the
gallery again the next day.
    “Are
you free this evening?” queried Carleton. “I’d thought of attending the opera.
I haven’t arranged a box so it would be just in the pit.  Are you at all
interested in accompanying me?”
    Frances
considered the idea and thought that should be safe enough.  She smiled at him,
“Thank you very much, I was just thinking the other day that I should attend at
least once while I am in London.  What time should I meet you there?”
    They
arranged to meet at the theatre, then went their separate ways, Frances heading
to the Pelican for an early dinner and Carleton to his house to finish some
business letters.