"You have decided nothing, then?" she parried.
"What decision I might have formed," he said, a trifle coolly, "has been put off by—this. You see, I must admit it, this—this rather complicates things for me. I'm in the dark altogether now, you see. I wanted to help you, however I could. And then—then I find this cameo."
She nodded absently, fingering the groove in the automatic's handle.
"I'm afraid I took too much for granted," she said in a low voice. "Don't you suppose my curiosity was aroused when you threw the coolie overboard? I said nothing; rather, I asked you no questions; and I thought that a man who was self-poised enough to meet his enemies in that way would be—what shall I say?—charitable enough to overlook such a——" She paused. "When I confessed that you and I are facing a common enemy, that the same hands are eager to do away with both of us, I thought that bond was sufficient, was strong enough, to justify what might shock an ordinary man. I mean——"
"I think I understand," Peter took her up in contrite tones. "I'll ask nothing more. In the morning we will talk the other matter over. I must have a little time. For the present, I want you to keep the revolver, and—here is the cameo. Forgive me for being so unreasonable, so—so selfish."
He leaned over. She seemed uncertain a moment, then caught the gold chain lightly from his hand.
"And—your revolver," she said. "Those are the terms of the agreement, I believe."
"No, no," he protested. "I have no use for it; none whatever. You keep it."
But quite as resolutely Romola Borria shook her head and extended the automatic, butt foremost, to him. "I insist," she said.
"But you say you're in danger," he argued.