"It may not be necessary, sir."
Uncle John regarded him thoughtfully.
"What can you do?" he asked.
Ferralti leaned forward and whispered, softly: "I have a stout pocket-knife, with a very long blade. I shall try to kill the Duke. Once he is dead his people will not dare to oppose us, but will fly in terror. It is only Il Duca's audacity and genius that enables this robber's den to exist."
"You would rather attempt this than pay?"
"Sir, I could not bear the infamy of letting this scoundrel triumph over me."
"Well, Ferralti, you are attempting a delicate and dangerous task, but so far as I can, I will help you."
He took the revolver from his pocket and handed it to his companion.
"It's loaded in every chamber," he whispered. "Perhaps it will serve your purpose better than a knife."
Ferralti's eyes sparkled.