“Of course not,” he said. “I’ve been in tighter spots…” and then he stopped.
Sydney was holding the Luger carelessly in his hand.
“Where did you get that from?” George said, suddenly angry. “I’ll trouble you not to go to my drawers without asking me.”
Sydney smiled. “Keep your wool on,” he said, examining the Luger with interest. “I only wanted to satisfy my curiosity.”
“Well, give it here, then,” George demanded, crossing the room. “I suppose Cora told you where I kept it.” He decided that he would hide the gun in another place in the future.
“She did,” Sydney returned, his finger curling round the trigger. “What’s the matter with it? Is it jammed?”
“No,” George said shortly. “It’s stiff, that’s all. The trigger wants adjusting. Here, let me have it.”
Sydney pulled at the trigger, and with an effort managed to snap down the hammer
“With an action like that,” he said, tossing the Luger on the bed, “you don’t have to worry about accidents.”
“That’s why I keep it that way,” George said, picking up the gun and slipping out the magazine. He made sure there was no cartridge in the breech, grunted, and shoved the gun in his hip pocket. It felt bulky and heavy, but it gave him a secret thrill to have it against his hip.