“He was a great man—Vastic. But you were too quick for him.”
“Were you—?” I began.
He nodded his head quickly.
“I missed you. It is not often I miss. I am counted a dead shot;” and with a glance the mingled threat and cunning of which no words of mine can convey, he took out a revolver and laid it on the table in his hand.
The interest of the situation heightened considerably.
“Have you come for a second shot?”
“I hope not; I hope it will not come to that. I should not miss a second time. Perhaps you have arms here?”
“Perhaps I have,” I answered coolly, meeting his eyes.
“It would help to give them me.”
We stared steadily at one another, and then I noticed that the door key was within my reach. I leaned forward slightly, as if to be nearer him, and then picked up the key with my left hand, and thrust back my chair so that my right hand rested on the bell push. As I moved, he watched me like a cat, and partly raised the revolver.