She stood still. Hatred vibrated in her voice as she said: "If you take the trouble to inspect it you will find it's Fully loaded. The magazine holds seven. It isn't cocked."
"Are you in the habit of carrying loaded guns?" he inquired.
"That's my affair."
"Undoubtedly," he agreed, and lifting the gun sniffed gingerly at the end of the barrel. He let go her wrist and slipped out the magazine. As she had said, it held seven cartridges. Pulling back the breech, he satisfied himself that it was empty. Then he snapped the magazine home and handed the gun to the girl.
She took it in a somewhat unsteady clasp. "Thanks. Satisfied I didn't do it?"
"Quite satisfied that you didn't do it with that gun," he replied. "Probably you didn't do the actual shooting, but you know something about it."
"You're wrong. I don't know anything. He was like that when I found him."
"Dead?"
"No - yes, I mean."
"Make up your mind which it is to be," he recommended.