He was holding Ingram's strange present in his hand.
"Of course. Another property. 'Act ii., scene 2: The lair of the wicked baronet.' Do you want it back? No, I won't, though," snatching it back as she reached for it. "Guns are for people who know how to let them off."
He made a movement as though to put it back, then checked himself, and balancing it in his hand looked from it to the coin and back again. The half-crown lay now, head upward, upon the table.
Suddenly Fenella caught his arm. "Bryan! not that—not that!"
He seemed to rouse himself. "Not that?"—angrily. "Why not? What d'you mean? How can you know what I was thinking of?"
His hand had closed upon the weapon. She loosened his fingers one by one to find her own hand held fast.
"Bryan, perhaps I've been too hard on you to-night. Suppose—suppose——Don't look at me that way or I'll stop. I don't promise anything. I must have time. It won't be easy for either of us."
He bent his head and put his lips to the hand that had been held out to slay him and to save him in one night.
"As you will, Flash. God bless you whatever you do with me."
"And now, dear, let me go," she said gently. "Remember, I have my own dead to watch."