After a while he remembered his appointment with Katherine at three
o'clock. He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to the hour, and,
beyond a cleaning yesterday afternoon, no preparations were made. In an
automatic way he unlocked some cases and drew out his treasures, wiped
the sword-blades tenderly with chamois leather, and laid them on the
long, baize-covered table. Here and there from the cornice he selected a
helmet. The great mace used by his ecclesiastical ancestor he unhooked
from the wall. Soon the table was covered with weapons, selected in a
dazed way, he knew not why. A helmet fell from his hands on the floor
with a ring of steel. Its visor grinned at him--the fool, the tricked,
the supplanted. He kicked it, with a silly laugh. Then he pulled himself
together, picked it up, and examined it in great fear lest harm should
have happened to it. He put it on the table, and in order to steady his
nerves drank another large whiskey and small soda.

He scanned the table, perplexed. Some accustomed and important exhibit
was not in its place. What was it? He clasped his head in his hands and
strove to clear his mind for a moment from obsession. It was something
historical, something unique, something he had but lately mentioned to
Katherine. Something intimately connected with this very room. At last
memory responded. He placed a chair between the two suits of armour that
stood against the screen and the end of the long table, and, mounting,
took a mahogany case from a shelf. Then he sat on the chair, put the
case on the table, and opened it by means of a small, ornamental key. It
contained a brace of old-fashioned duelling pistols, such as were used
at the beginning of the nineteenth century. They were long-barrelled,
ivory-handled, business-like weapons, provided with miniature ramrods.
The velvet-lined interior of the case was divided into various
compartments, two for the pistols, one for powder-flask, one for
bullets, one for percussion-caps, and one for wads. In his dull,