She shook her head. “The box was locked. He has the keys.”
He felt the sweat prickling out all over his body. He stared at her trying to think of something to say.
“Why do you look at me like that?” she exclaimed angrily. “I cannot help it if he keeps the box locked.”
“No, you cannot help it.” He knew now that she had not intended to get the revolver. She couldn’t be blamed. He couldn’t expect her to steal for him. He had asked too much of her. But he had been banking on that revolver of José’s. Now, in God’s name, what was he going to do?
She rested her hand on his arm. “You are angry with me?”
He shook his head. “Why should I be angry? I should have had the sense to keep my own revolver in my pocket. It’s just that I was relying on your getting it. It’s my own fault. But, as I told you, I’m not used to this sort of thing.”
She laughed. “Ah, you need not worry; I can tell you something. This man does not carry a gun.”
“What! How do you know?”
“He was going up the stairs in front of me when I came back just now. His clothes are tight and creased. If he carried a revolver I would have seen the shape of it in his pocket.”
“You are sure of this?”