The candlestick did not stir, but a bullet was embedded in the panel behind.

Calvin Oke felt his scalp nervously.
"One," counted the stranger.

He walked quietly to the table, set down his smoking pistol, and took up the other, looking round at the same time on the white faces that stared on him behind the thick curls of smoke.

Stepping back to his former position, he waited while they could count twenty, lifted the second pistol high, brought it smartly down to the aim and fired again.
The second candle went out, and a second bullet buried itself in Prudy's panel.
So he served the six, one after another, without a miss.

Twice he reloaded both pistols slowly, and while he did so not a word was spoken.
Indeed, the only sound to be heard came from Uncle Issy, who, being a trifle asthmatical with age, felt some inconvenience from the smoke in his throat.