The evening was getting darker all the time. A sad wind blew through the empty fields, making a sound like a distant giant whistling to call his dog. The sadness of the scene started to upset Mr Winkle. He shivered as they passed the trench - to him it looked like a very large grave.

The officer turned suddenly from the path. He climbed over a fence, and went through a hedge. Then entered a small, hidden field.

Two other gentlemen were waiting there. One was a little fat man, with black hair. The other person was also quite fat. He wore a coat and was sitting on a small chair looking completely relaxed.

'The man you are going to fight, and a doctor, I suppose,' said Mr Snodgrass; 'take a drop of brandy.' He offered a bottle to his friend. Mr Winkle took it and had a long drink of the liquid.

The officer came over to them, and Mr Winkle did the introductions. 'My friend, Mr Snodgrass,' he said. Doctor Slammer's friend bowed, and produced a case of pistols similar to that which Mr Snodgrass carried.

'I think we have nothing further to say, Sir,' he said in an unfriendly voice. 'Since you are determined not to apologise.' He opened his case.