"It is too bad to keep you up," said he, "but positively you must tell me more about this dreadful accident. What else, what else?"
"There is nothing more—to tell," said Geoffrey, pausing designedly, for his immediate object was now to thoroughly frighten Mr. Francis, and he meant to do it slowly and firmly. "What more, indeed, could there be? It was over in a moment. Partly, I am afraid, by your fault, partly by your man's, a cartridge was left in Harry's gun. Oh! by the way, since you are anxious for minutiæ, there is one more tiny point that might conceivably interest you. There seemed to me—I happened to be looking at Harry—some slight resistance somewhere when he took the gun up. He took hold of it, you understand, and then gave it a jerk. It has occurred to me, very forcibly in fact, that this resistance, whatever it was, was the cause of the gun going off."
"The trigger perhaps caught in the edge of the carpet," suggested Mr. Francis.
"I don't think so," said Geoffrey carelessly.
"Well, something of the kind," said Mr. Francis. "Or, again, it may have been pure imagination on your part."
"I don't think that either," said Geoffrey. "A gun even when loaded and at full cock, as this one must have been, does not naturally go off when handled. Besides, I found, when I examined the place——" He stopped suddenly, and looked up at Mr. Francis. Quick as a lizard, fear unmistakable and shaking leaped there for a moment, and was as quickly gone.
"You found—?" he asked, under his breath.
"Ah! you remind me: I found a little thing, a very little thing, which may, however, turn out to be important. Oh, it is ridiculous! I can not really tell you. I will keep it to myself, please."
"Really, my dear Geoffrey," said Mr. Francis, "you tell a story, and stop when you come to the point."