Mr Quandrill took off his spectacles.
“Ah,” he said, tapping the counter with them meditatively. “Let me see. Mr Westray, is it not, the architect at the minster?”
“Yes,” Westray answered. “I require a pistol for some experiments. It should carry a fairly heavy bullet.”
“Oh, just so,” the man said, with an air of some relief, as Westray’s coolness convinced him that he was not contemplating suicide. “Just so, I see; some experiments. Well, in that case, I suppose, you would not require any special facilities for loading again quickly, otherwise I should have recommended one of these,” and he took up a weapon from the counter. “They are new-fangled things from America, revolving pistols they call them. You can fire them four times running, you see, as quick as you like,” and he snapped the piece to show how well it worked.
Westray handled the pistol, and looked at the barrels.
“Yes,” he said, “that will suit my purpose very well, though it is rather large to carry in the pocket.”
“Oh, you want it for the pocket,” the gunmaker said with renewed surprise in his tone.
“Yes; I told you that already. I may have to carry it about with me. Still, I think this will do. Could you kindly load it for me now?”
“You are sure it’s quite safe,” said the gunmaker.
“I ought to ask you that,” Westray rejoined with a smile. “Do you mean it may go off accidentally in my pocket?”