“For God's sake be careful!” he gasped. “You're pointing it at me! Do not press that lever, I beg!”
“Will it explode!” asked T. X. curiously.
“No, no!”
T. X. pointed the thing downward to the carpet and pressed the knob cautiously. As he did so there was a sharp hiss and the floor was stained with the liquid which the instrument contained. Just one gush of fluid and no more. T. X. looked down. The bright carpet had already changed colour, and was smoking. The room was filled with a pungent and disagreeable scent. T. X. looked from the floor to the white-faced man.
“Vitriol, I believe,” he said, shaking his head admiringly. “What a dear little fellow you are!”
The man, big as he was, was on the point of collapse and mumbled something about self-defence, and listened without a word, whilst T. X., labouring under an emotion which was perfectly pardonable, described Kara, his ancestors and the possibilities of his future estate.
Very slowly the Greek recovered his self-possession.
“I didn't intend using it on you, I swear I didn't,” he pleaded. “I'm surrounded by enemies, Meredith. I had to carry some means of protection. It is because my enemies know I carry this that they fight shy of me. I'll swear I had no intention of using it on you. The idea is too preposterous. I am sorry I fooled you about the safe.”
“Don't let that worry you,” said T. X. “I am afraid I did all the fooling. No, I cannot let you have this back again,” he said, as the Greek put out his hand to take the infernal little instrument. “I must take this back to Scotland Yard; it's quite a long time since we had anything new in this shape. Compressed air, I presume.”
Kara nodded solemnly.