He dropped quickly on one knee by his friend, and thrust a hand into his coat pocket for his bunch of keys; when his hand came in contact with something, which he drew out with an ejaculation, and looked up at Sir Mark.
“A pistol!” said the latter, and they stared in each other’s eyes, just as Stratton began to show signs of recovery.
“Why has he a pistol?” whispered Miss Jerrold; and her brother’s whole manner changed.
“I was thinking that you ought to have fetched the police at once, my lad,” he said; “but it’s as well you did not. There are things men like hushed up.”
“I—I—don’t know what you mean,” faltered Miss Jerrold, while Guest slowly laid the weapon on the table, looking ghastly pale, and feeling a sensation of heart-sickness and despair.
“Plain enough,” said the admiral coldly. “There is something more, though, behind. Do you know what?” he cried sternly, as he fixed Guest with his eyes.
“On my honour, no, Sir Mark.”
“It does not matter to us.”
“But it does, Mark,” cried Miss Jerrold piteously; “and I am confused. What does it all mean?”
“Heaven and the man himself alone know.”