She followed him to the front door. He had turned to go, but, changing his mind, came back, and she saw him put his hand into his hip pocket and was staggered to see him produce a long-barrelled Browning.
“Can you use a pistol, miss?”
She nodded, too surprised to speak, and watched him as he jerked back the jacket and put up the safety catch.
“I want to be on the safe side, and I’d feel happier if you were armed.”
There was a gun hanging on the wall and he took it down.
“Have you any shells for this?” he asked.
She pulled open the drawer of the hall-stand and took out a cardboard carton.
“They may be useful,” he said.
“But surely, Mr.——”
“Digby.” He supplied his name.