But he was wrong.
It had been caused by simple fear. The facts of the matter were that
Alderman Keats had never before dared to fire the revolver, and that the
infernal noise and the jar on his hand (which had held the weapon too
loosely) had given him what is known in the Five Towns as a fearful
start. He had offered to shoot on the spur of the moment, without due
reflection, and he had fired as a woman might have fired. It was a piece
of the most heavenly good fortune that he had put the bullet through the
keyhole. Indeed, at first he was inclined to believe that marksmanship
must be less difficult than it was reported to be, for his aim had been
entirely casual. In saying to Brindley, "You see that keyhole," he had
merely been boasting in a jocular style. However, when Brindley left,
Brindley carried with him the alderman's reputation as a perfect Wild
West shot.
The alderman had it in mind to practise revolver-shooting seriously,
until the Keats coachman made a discovery later in the day. The coachman
slept over the carriage-house, and on going up the ladder to put on his
celluloid collar he perceived a hole in his ceiling and some plaster on
his bit of carpet.
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