"Are you absolutely resolved to put an end to it all to-night?" he demanded.
Cazeby made a small sign of bewilderment.
"Ah, mon vieux," continued the other. "That, you know, is of no use with me. You ask me who I am. For one thing, I am one who has lived too long in touch with desperate men not to know the look in the eyes when the end has come. You think you are going to blow out your brains to-night."
"Your wits are wandering; that's all," said Cazeby, compassionately.
"Oh, far from it!" said Bibi-la-Raie, with a short laugh. "But one does not fondle one's revolver in the daytime without a good reason, nor does one leave it on top of letters postmarked this morning unless one has been fondling it—quoi?"
Cazeby was at the marqueterie desk in two strides, tugging at the upper right hand drawer. It was locked. He turned about slowly, and, half seating himself on the edge of the desk, surveyed his guest coolly.
"The revolver is in your pocket," he said.
"No," answered Bibi, with an air of cheerfulness. "I have one of my own. But the key is."
"Why?" said Cazeby.
Bibi helped himself to yellow chartreuse, and appeared to reflect.