"He tried to kill me," Millar answered slowly.
The color rushed to Olga's cheeks. Her eyes sparkled as she turned them toward her tempter. It was delight she felt; mad, unreasoning joy that Karl's love for her had prompted him to kill another who threatened to win her from him. Still smiling, Millar went on, taking the shining revolver from his pocket and showing it to her:
"With his own hands, dear lady, Karl tried to kill me with this little pistol. I took it away from him."
"He tried to shoot you?" Olga exclaimed.
"Yes; and he would have done so. This is nicely loaded for six."
Almost to herself Olga whispered her next words:
"This afternoon he wanted to kill you when you only spoke of making love to me, and now—he saw you whisper in my ear, hold my hand, touch my shoulders. Why, he must have fallen in love with——"
"Don't you think it silly to shoot a friend on account of a woman?" Millar interrupted, before she could pronounce Elsa's name.
"Oh, he's fond of me—perhaps you said something about me," Olga stumbled on hurriedly. "Karl holds me in high regard, but, there is no doubt of it, these young people are in love."
"I fear you regret the success of your matrimonial scheme for Karl and Elsa," Millar said.