"So they would—for a time. What does that matter to me? Isn't a fellow to protect himself when a fellow like you comes to him armed?"
"But they would soon know that you are the swindler who escaped from San Francisco eighteen months ago. Do you think it wouldn't be found out that it was you who paid for the shares in forged notes?"
"I never did. That's one of your lies."
"Very well. Now you know what I know; and you had better tell me over again who it is that lies buried under the stone that's been photographed there."
"What are you men doing with them pistols?" said one of the strangers, walking across the room, and standing over the backs of their chairs.
"We are alooking at 'em," said Lefroy.
"If you're agoing to do anything of that kind you'd better go and do it elsewhere," said the stranger.
"Just so," said Lefroy. "That's what I was thinking myself."
"But we are not going to do anything," said Mr. Peacocke. "I have not the slightest idea of shooting the gentleman; and he has just as little of shooting me."
"Then what do you sit with 'em out in your hands in that fashion for?" said the stranger. "It's a decent widow woman as keeps this house, and I won't see her set upon. Put 'em up." Whereupon Lefroy did return his pistol to his pocket,—upon which Mr. Peacocke did the same. Then the stranger slowly walked back to his seat at the other side of the room.