It was a permit from the police made out in her name allowing her to carry a revolver.
A moment later, Kennedy reached into his coat pocket and produced a little automatic which he handed to her.
"Thank you," she cried eagerly.
Elaine examined the gun with interest, then, raising it, pointed it playfully at Bennett.
"Oh—no—no!" exclaimed Kennedy, taking her arm quickly, and gently deflecting the weapon away. "You mustn't think it is a toy. It explodes at a mere touch of the trigger—when that safety ratchet is turned."
Bennett had realized the danger and had jumped back, almost mechanically. As he did so, he bumped into a suit of medieval armor standing by the wall, knocking it over with a resounding crash.
"I beg pardon," he ejaculated, "I'm very sorry. That was very awkward of me."
Jennings, who had been busy about the portieres at the doorway, started to pick up the fallen knight. Some of the pieces were broken, and the three gathered about as the butler tried to fit them together again as best he could.
"Too bad, too bad," apologized Bennett profusely. "I really forgot how close I was to the thing."
"Oh, never mind," returned Elaine, a little crestfallen, "It is smashed all right—but it was my fault. Jennings, send for someone to repair it."