She did so. Inside, the paper wrapping covered a pasteboard box. She opened that. There lay a revolver, which she picked up and turned over. It was a curious looking weapon.
"I never knew so much about firearms as I have learned in the past few weeks," remarked Elaine. "But what do you suppose this is—and who sent it to me—and why?"
She held the gun up. From the barrel stuck out a little rolled-up piece of paper. "See," she cried, reading and handing the paper to me, "there it is again—that mysterious power."
Aunt Josephine and I read the note:
DEAR MISS DODGE:
This weapon shoots exactly into the center of the light disc. Keep it by you.—A FRIEND.
"Let me see it," I asked, taking the gun. Sure enough, along the barrel was a peculiar tube. "A searchlight gun," I exclaimed, puzzled, though still my suspicions were not entirely at rest. "Suppose it's sighted wrong," I could not help considering. "It might be a plant to save some one from being shot."
"That's easily settled," returned Elaine. "Let's try it."
"Oh, mercy no,—not here," remonstrated Aunt Josephine.
"Why not—down cellar?" persisted Elaine. "It can't hurt anything there."