"Not a word."
"Ah! Yes, I've been in the jungle, and I stumbled on a she-tiger's lair." It was not intentional, but the manner of the speech gave it a significance aside from the phrasing.
Darling was standing by a table, and as he dropped his eyes musingly they rested on a small object that lay beside the tray of decanters and glasses. In an instant he was holding it up.
"May I have this?" he asked. It was a .45-caliber bullet, and the blood on it was still damp.
"No," refused Kneedrock flatly.
"I fancied not," rejoined the colonel. "You're keeping it as a souvenir, I suppose."
"I'm keeping it as evidence," the viscount said, lighting his pipe.
Later that night Jack Darling did an utterly unheard of thing. He knocked loudly on the door of his wife's bed-chamber and demanded admittance.
Nina, who had not yet fallen asleep, sat up in alarm, gathered herself together with an effort, and then, strangely enough, admitted her husband without protest. And if there can be a comparison in unheard of things, this was still more utterly unheard of.