"I don't think you'd dare, with all of your presumption, Mr. Drennen."
"Because there are a couple of men out there to see, I suppose?"
"No. I don't think that that would stop you. Because of this."
A hand, dropped to her lap, came up to the level of the table top and in its palm he saw the shining barrel of a small automatic pistol. Again he laughed at her.
"It seems the latest fad for women to carry such playthings," he ridiculed her. "I wonder how frightened you'd have to be before you could pull the trigger?"
"Just merely angered," she smiled back at him, as the weapon went back into her lap, and out of sight.
"It's just a trifling episode, this shooting a man," he suggested. "I suppose you've done that sort of thing before?"
"If I hadn't perhaps I shouldn't be here now," she informed him as quietly as he had spoken.
It flashed upon Drennen, looking straight into her unfaltering eyes, that the girl was telling him the truth. Well, why not? There was Southern blood in her; her name suggested it and her appearance proclaimed it. And Southern blood is hot blood. His instinct was telling him that she was some new type of adventuress; her words seemed to assure him of the fact.
"Since I cannot be about my business these days," he said slowly, "I am fortunate in finding so entertaining a lady to share my idleness."