"Not if I know the nature of the brute." He stood up, fully dressed but for his shoes. "Now—my gun, please."
"Top drawer of the buffet there. How are you going? Fire escape?"
"Where is it?" P. Sybarite asked as he possessed himself of his weapon.
"Half a minute." Peter Kenny held out his hand. "Let's have a look at that gun—will you?"
"What for?"
"One of those newfangled automatic pistols—isn't it? I 've never seen one before."
"But—Great Scott!—you've had this here—"
"I know, but I didn't pay much attention—thinking of other things—"
"But you're delaying me—"
"Mean to," said Peter Kenny purposefully; and without giving P. Sybarite the least hint of his intention, suddenly imprisoned his wrist, grabbed the weapon by the barrel, and took it to himself—with the greater ease since the other neither understood nor attempted resistance.