Not According to the Code Page #2

"Not According to the Code" by Robert Barr is a gripping tale that intertwines themes of mystery and intrigue within the context of social norms and moral dilemmas. The story follows a protagonist who challenges established codes of conduct, leading to unexpected consequences and revelations. Barr's masterful storytelling and keen insight into human nature invite readers to reflect on the complexities of ethics and the choices that define us. This thought-provoking narrative explores the rebellion against conformity and the pursuit of personal truth in a world governed by unspoken rules.

• Short story

								

for the ranch, when in passing a shop which he would have called a
draper's, but which was there designated as dealing in dry goods, he
was amazed to see the name "Danby and Strong" in big letters at the
bottom of a huge pile of small cardboard boxes that filled the whole
window. At first the name merely struck him as familiar, and he came
near asking himself "Where have I seen that before?" It was some
moments before he realised that the Strong stood for the man gazing
stupidly in at the plate-glass window. Then he noticed that the boxes
were all guaranteed to contain the famous Piccadilly collar. He read in
a dazed manner a large printed bill which stood beside the pile of
boxes. These collars it seemed, were warranted to be the genuine Danby
and Strong collar, and the public was warned against imitations. They
were asserted to be London made and linen faced, and the gratifying
information was added that once a person wore the D. and S. collar he
never afterwards relapsed into wearing any inferior brand. The price of
each box was fifteen cents, or two boxes for a quarter. Strong found
himself making a mental calculation which resulted in turning this
notation into English money.

As he stood there a new interest began to fill his mind. Was the firm
being carried on under the old name by some one else, or did this lot
of collars represent part of the old stock? He had had no news from
home since he left, and the bitter thought occurred to him that perhaps
Danby had got somebody with capital to aid him in resuscitating the
business. He resolved to go inside and get some information.

"You seem to have a very large stock of those collars on hand," he said
to the man who was evidently the proprietor.

"Yes," was the answer. "You see, we are the State agents for this make.
We supply the country dealers."

"Oh, do you? Is the firm of Danby and Strong still in existence? I
understood it had suspended."

"I guess not," said the man. "They supply us all right enough. Still, I
really know nothing about the firm, except that they turn out a first-
class article. We're not in any way responsible for Danby and Strong;
we're merely agents for the State of Texas, you know," the man added,
with sudden caution.

"I have nothing against the firm," said Strong. "I asked because I once
knew some members of it, and was wondering how it was getting along."

"Well, in that case you ought to see the American representative. He
was here this week ... that's why we make such a display in the window,
it always pleases the agent ... he's now working up the State and will
be back in Galveston before the month is out."

"What's his name? Do you remember?"

"Danby. George Danby, I think. Here's his card. No, John Danby is the
name. I thought it was George. Most Englishmen are George, you know."

Strong looked at the card, but the lettering seemed to waver before his
eyes. He made out, however, that Mr. John Danby had an address in New
York, and that he was the American representative of the firm of Danby
and Strong, London. Strong placed the card on the counter before him.

"I used to know Mr. Danby, and I would like to meet him. Where do you
think I could find him?"

"Well, as I said before, you could see him right here in Galveston if
you wait a month, but if you are in a hurry you might catch him at
Broncho Junction on Thursday night."

"He is travelling by rail then?"

"No, he is not. He went by rail as far as Felixopolis. There he takes a
horse, and goes across the prairies to Broncho Junction; a three days'
journey. I told him he wouldn't do much business on that route, but he
said he was going partly for his health, and partly to see the country.
He expected to reach Broncho Thursday night." The dry goods merchant
laughed as one who suddenly remembers a pleasant circumstance. "You're
an Englishman, I take it."

Strong nodded.

"Well, I must say you folks have queer notions about this country.
Danby, who was going for a three days' journey across the plains,
bought himself two Colts revolvers, and a knife half as long as my arm.
Now I've travelled all over this State, and never carried a gun, but I
couldn't get Danby to believe his route was as safe as a church. Of
course, now and then in Texas a cowboy shoots off his gun, but it's
more often his mouth, and I don't believe there's more killing done in
Texas than in any other bit of land the same size. But you can't get an
Englishman to believe that. You folks are an awful law-abiding crowd.
For my part I would sooner stand my chance with a revolver than a
lawsuit any day." Then the good-natured Texan told the story of the
pistol in Texas; of the general lack of demand for it, but the great
necessity of having it handy when it was called for.

A man with murder in his heart should not hold a conversation like
this, but William Strong was too full of one idea to think of prudence.
Such a talk sets the hounds of justice on the right trail, with
unpleasant results for the criminal.

On Thursday morning Strong set out on horse-back from Broncho Junction
with his face towards Felixopolis. By noon he said to himself he ought
to meet his former partner with nothing but the horizon around them.
Besides the revolvers in his belt, Strong had a Winchester rifle in
front of him. He did not know but he might have to shoot at long range,
and it was always well to prepare for eventualities. Twelve o'clock
came, but he met no one, and there was nothing in sight around the
empty circle of the horizon. It was nearly two before he saw a moving
dot ahead of him. Danby was evidently unused to riding and had come
leisurely. Some time before they met, Strong recognised his former
partner and he got his rifle ready.

"Throw up your hands!" he shouted, bringing his rifle butt to his
shoulder.

Danby instantly raised his hands above his head. "I have no money on
me," he cried, evidently not recognising his opponent. "You may search
me if you like."

"Get down off your horse; don't lower your hands, or I fire."

Danby got down, as well as he could, with his hands above his head.
Strong had thrown his right leg over to the left side of the horse,
and, as his enemy got down, he also slid to the ground, keeping Danby
covered with the rifle.

"I assure you I have only a few dollars with me, which you are quite
welcome to," said Danby.

Strong did not answer. Seeing that the firing was to be at short range,
he took a six-shooter from his belt, and, cocking it, covered his man,
throwing the rifle on the grass. He walked up to his enemy, placed the
muzzle of the revolver against his rapidly beating heart, and leisurely
disarmed him, throwing Danby's weapons on the ground out of reach. Then
he stood back a few paces and looked at the trembling man. His face
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