“Firearms? No, certainly not,” answered the colonel, in a tone of indignation which showed that he scented Hemming’s desire to connect his property with the outrage.
“No offense, sir,” said Hemming, persuasively. “But I am bound to make inquiries, as you know. I see you’ve got a trophy on the wall outside, with spears, a long Afghan gun, and—”
“Why, that gun would do more harm to the man who fired it than it would to anything he fired at!”
“And there’s an old pistol there, too. May I look at that?”
“Certainly you can, if you choose.”
The detective availed himself of the permission, and brought into the room from the place where they had hung on the wall of the passage, the Afghan gun, a short and heavy camel-gun, and the pistol in question. It was an old cavalry pistol, of obsolete pattern.
This weapon Hemming proceeded to handle with interest.
“Take care,” said the colonel, suddenly ducking his head as the detective held it up and put his hand on the trigger. “It’s loaded.”
“I think not,” answered Hemming, quietly.
And he pulled the trigger three or four times without effect. The colonel jumped up.