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Lord
Balmoral was in evidence, of course, since
his
Bagatelle Club team were the challengers. I
nodded
to Lady Windemere and the duchess of Paisley, present with their
usual entourage, and
exchanged
pleasantries with Baroness Jeurdon and Lady Lind-Mead.

When
the competition finally got under way, I
was
at a bit of a loss to understand how they
managed
the whole thing. There were a number of
events,
and the paper targets, with circled bull's-
eyes,
were gradually moved farther and farther
from
the riflemen. There was much measuring of
distances
from bullet hole to target center, and the endeavors of various
contestants were accompanied by suitable
ooohs
and
ahhhs.
If asked point-blank, I would have
stated that they seemed to be
making a
mountain out of a molehill. Then I noted the exchange of currency
between top-hatted gen
tlemen and
realized that the number of matches
was
to accommodate the spectators
'
urge to wager.

The
shooting took place in a sizeable fenced area
at
the rear of the Wellington Club building. Chairs
were
arranged on the brick-paved terrace, and
the
back wall was sandbagged to a considerable height. Due to the
position of the property in conjunction with the Deptford Reach,
there were
no buildings immediately
adjacent and a fortuitous
breeze off the
river served to disperse the fumes of
the
gunpowder. With a gay crowd sipping tea or
other
more potent libations, and the marksmen in uniforms of paramilitary
design banging away at
targets, it made
for a colorful scene. Holmes
seemed to
understand what was going on and
informed
me that the results of the match now
depended
on the final encounter between the ace of
the
Bagatelle Club, one Gerald Stolte, and our
acquaintance
Richard Ledger.

The
groundswell of conversation interspersed
with
tinkles of laughter faded out as the two
contestants
made for their firing positions. Lord Arthur Seville was acting as an
announcer, and he
informed the multitude
that this would be the penultimate event, since the victor would then
entertain his audience with an individual display.
This
deciding match would be five shots per contes
tant
with no time limit. A two-by-four timber was
placed
on the ground to serve as the marker for the shootists, they being
allowed to change position as
long as
they remained behind the length of wood.

Holmes
and I were standing at the rear of the
seated
crowd, on the four steps leading from the
clubhouse
to the terrace and the rifle range beyond. A well-dressed though
somewhat sly-looking citi
zen
standing next to me advanced some inside
news
for no reason that I could fathom.

"That
bit about changing positions was intro
duced
into the procedural rules by Chasseur, you
can
bet," he whispered to me.

I
noted an oversized diamond on one of his
fingers
that struck me as gauche, though I judged
the
gem to be real. My questioning look prompted
him
to continue in a conspiratorial tone.

"Chasseur
has more than a few bob wagered on
this
contest, and Ledger is his hole card." My
eyebrows
must have escalated, for he elaborated.
"His
sleeve ace, but the bloke is a nervous type, as
you
shall shortly see."

As
though in fear that he had been too revealing,
my
unknown ally changed his position. I found out
later
from Holmes that he was Odds-On Olderman,
London's
leading bookmaker, though he was surely
present
under an alias.

Representing
the challengers, Gerald Stolte was first to take position and proved
to be a textbook
marksman, as immobile
as a block of stone. Once
positioned in
a widespread stance, with the butt of
the
stock against his shoulder, he might as well
have
been a statue. I noted that his right thumb
was
not curved over the throat of the butt but
rested
parallel to the barrel, close to the bolt of the
army-issue
rifle he was using. His right eye glued to
the
rear sight, he remained stationary for a nerve-racking time before
loosing his first shot. I could barely see the target, but Stolte
obviously could, and the bull's-eye as well. He did not move other
than a quick back-and-forth of the bolt with his
thumb
and index finger. Then, with a gentle caress
of
the trigger, he sent off his second shot. With the
same
approximate period between, his final three bullets spun down the
barrel's rifling and boomed
their way to
the target.

With
no expression on his face, Stolte lowered his
weapon
and retreated toward a group of his Bagatelle teammates, to
discuss his efforts no doubt. A
club
attendant raced out to retrieve the target,
bringing
it to Lord Arthur Seville after affixing a new one.

I
must say the large gathering was suitably quiet, and I felt caught up
by the suspense myself. Seville
inspected
the target, conferred with two other
gentlemen,
and then made an announcement.

"Mr.
Stolte's five shots were all within the inner three rings, and two
are judged to be bull's-eyes."

There
were cheers from the Bagatelle Club sup
porters
and I noted Alvidon Chasseur, standing
with
a group of men, looking confident, nay some
what
smug.

When
Richard Ledger advanced to the shooting
position,
I was surprised to see that he carried a
lever-action
rifle loosely in his hand. I would have
thought
that the contestants would use similar
pieces
of ordinance, but some words between two
men
slightly to our rear informed me that the
marksmen
had their choice of guns, providing the
caliber
was within the specified limits allowed.

Whereas
Stolte had been pedantic in his actions, Richard Ledger was not, and
his style was as far
from that of his
opponent as could be imagined. He
stood
with his gun held in his right hand, barrel to
the
sky, surveying the target. Then he ran his left
thumb
across his mouth and passed that finger
across
the front sight, lowering the barrel to make this action possible.
Suddenly the butt was against
his
shoulder and he fired almost without pause. His
right
hand levered the empty cartridge from the
firing
chamber as his legs moved him a step or two to his right and he got
off another quick shot. Then
his stance
shifted to his left and the next three
bullets
were fired in rapid succession as Ledger
continued
to change position.

Throughout
the crowd there was an exchange of
looks
and shrugs, and I surmised that most of those
present
could not quite believe the marksman's
unusual
methods. There were some who did not
register
surprise, Chasseur among them, and I
judged
that Ledger's unorthodox approach was
normal
to him. The crowd obviously felt that Stolte
had
triumphed for the Bagatelle Club, since the
Wellington
man, because of his speed, had seemed
not
to care about the result and had almost given
the
impression that he was throwing the match.

With
the thought that the result was obvious,
small
talk started up again, but when the target
was
brought to Lord Seville, there was something
about
his manner and that of the two other judges
that
stilled eager tongues. Finally, Seville addressed the gathering.

"Mr.
Ledger's target has no bull's-eye, since it has
been
blown away. The Wellington Club retains its
championship
of the London Rifle League."

His
lordship's words were greeted by a stunned
silence,
and then a series of cheers arose from the
amazed
gallery and there was a babble of sound. It
took
Seville some time to quiet the spectators,
which
he finally did by removing his topper and
waving
it as an attention-getter.

"Now,
ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Ledger will give
a
demonstration of trick-shooting as the final event
of
the day."

His
skill a recognized thing, the audience was
riveted
on the champion and there was a respectful
silence
indeed.

As
he took his stance before the crowd, I was
much
surprised to note that he had changed weap
ons.
Having done so well with his lever-action gun,
I
would have thought that he would stay with it;
but
instead, he now carried a different-looking rifle,
with
an elongated barrel. It was an unusual
weapon
with a stock decorated by ornate checker
ing.
I had seen similar carving on sporting rifles
and
understood it had a grip-aiding purpose.

"Note
that he is using a Beals revolving rifle,"
whispered
Holmes in my ear. "They haven't made
those
since seventy-two."

While
I mused over this information, Ledger put
on
a show that had the crowd breathless. Lord
Seville
stood to one side of the marksman with
another
judge, and both men alternated in spin
ning
coins into the air. Ledger knocked four out of the sky and then added
a fillip by drilling two more,
firing
from the hip. As he paused to reload, I real
ized
why his repeating rifle had seemed strange. Its
firing
chamber was similar to a revolver in its
action,
hence the name that Holmes had given the
gun.

While
I watched openmouthed as Ledger ran
through
his bag of trick-shooting feats, a thought
came
to my mind, spurred by the fact that the man
and
his gun moved as one. It was further stimu
lated
by his speed in firing and the so brief time
that
he took to aim.

The
climax to Ledger's performance should have
been
clear to me before the fact. The afternoon had
been
a singular triumph for Alvidon Chasseur, and
if
I judged him correctly, he must have derived
great
joy from forcing Lord Balmoral to take a back
seat.
Would he let the matter come to an end
without
interjecting himself into the proceedings?
Certainly
not; though I had to admit that he dis
played
remarkable nerve in the manner in which
he
did it.

Ledger
now completed what proved to be his
next-to-closing
bit of rifle legerdemain. With his
weapon
held by Lord Seville, he faced the audi
ence,
two small wooden balls in hand. Tossing
them
over his shoulder, he snatched the Beals
repeater
from his lordship's hands and whirled,
again
firing from the hip, and smashed his targets
with
twin shots that rang out almost as one. As he
acknowledged
the applause, a look passed between
the
president of the Birmingham and Northern and
Ledger.
The marksman reloaded his weapon as
Chasseur,
without an announcement, strode out
onto
the firing range. From a silver case he ex
tracted
a cigarette as a puzzled hush spread over
the
crowd. Igniting an Egyptian cigarette, which I
identified
from its length, the rail tycoon stood
with
his profile toward Ledger, the smoking
cigarette
in his mouth. By now everyone realized what was going on, and there
was a low rumble of protest and several of the ladies present grew
quite pale. I have mentioned that the cigarette was long, and I noted
that Chasseur held it between his teeth
at
the very end; but still, it was a sporty exhibition
of
faith in his employee's ability.