I was trying to recall his very first remarks about revolvers, after the burglary the night before. And Delavoye read the attempt with his startling insight, and helped me out with impulsive candour.
"You're quite right! I did say I hated the beastly things, but it was a weakness I always meant to get over, and now I have. Do you mind giving me my Webley?"
"What did you do with the other one, Uvo?"
"Pitched it into the Nile, since you're so beastly inquisitive. But I was full of fever at the time, and broken-hearted at cracking up. It's quite different now."
"Is it?"
"Of course it is. I'm not going to do anything rotten. I was only ragging you. Don't be a silly ass, Gillon!"
He was holding out his hand. His face had darkened, but his eyes blazed.
"I'm sorry, Uvo——"
"I'll make you sorrier!" he hissed.
"I can't help it. You couldn't trust yourself in your fever. It's your own fault if I can't trust you now."