“Its merits?” demanded Vasilovich, impatiently. “What are its merits? I see nothing peculiar about it excepting this cylinder from which the barrel projects. Is that a magazine?”
“It is,” answered the professor; “it accommodates twenty cartridges. But that is not the most extraordinary thing about it. Can you discover the method of firing the weapon?”
“No,” answered Vasilovich, “I cannot. I was about to ask you as to that.”
“It is perfectly simple. Permit me,” remarked the professor, in the easiest and most matter-of-fact tone imaginable. And, so saying, he took the pistol from Vasilovich’s unresisting hand.
“There are still two other peculiarities connected with this weapon,” remarked von Schalckenberg; “namely, the marvellous rapidity with which it can be fired, and the fact that it is absolutely noiseless when discharged. Please observe, Count. You see those two decanters upon the table? Kindly fix your eyes upon their stoppers.”
The decanters referred to were standing upon the table, some twelve paces distant from von Schalckenberg, and some eight feet apart, where they had been carelessly placed by the servant before leaving the count to the solitary enjoyment of his tobacco and vodki. As the professor spoke,
he suddenly raised his hand and levelled the pistol with lightning quickness first at one decanter and then at the other. There was a sharp clink-clink, and the tops of the smashed stoppers fell upon the table all but simultaneously.
Vasilovich looked astounded. He stared first at the decanters, then at von Schalckenberg, then back again at the decanters.
“Did you break those stoppers by firing at them with that pistol?” he at length demanded, in a tone of mingled apprehension and rage.