Alderman Keats smiled bluffly.
"I've been told it's difficult enough to hit even a door with a revolver," said Brindley.
"You see that keyhole," said the alderman, startlingly, pointing to a worn rusty keyhole in the middle of the vast double-doors of the carriage-house.
Brindley admitted that he did see it.
The next moment there was an explosion, and the alderman glanced at the smoking revolver, blew on it suspiciously, and put it back into his celebrated hip-pocket.
Brindley, whom the explosion had intimidated, examined the double-doors, and found no mark.
"Where did you hit?" he inquired.
"Through the keyhole," said the alderman, after a pause. He opened the doors, and showed half a load of straw in the dusk behind them.
"The bullet's imbedded in there," said he.
"Well," said Brindley, "that's not so bad, that isn't."