"What in blazes—?" he enquired, puzzled, watching Peter turn the weapon over curiously in his hands. "I should think—"
"There!" Peter interrupted placidly, withdrawing the magazine clip from its slot in the butt and returning the now harmless mechanism. "Now run along. Fire-escape's outside the far window in the bedroom, yonder."
"What the deuce! What's the matter with you? Hand over that clip. What good is this gun without it?"
"For your present purpose, it's better than if loaded," Peter asserted complacently. "For purposes of intimidation—which is all you want of it—grand! And it can't go off by accident and make you an unintentional murderer."
P. Sybarite's jaw dropped and his eyes opened; but after an instant, he nodded in entire agreement.
"That's a head you have on your shoulders, boy!" said he. "As for mine, I've a notion that it has never really jelled."
He turned toward the bedroom, but paused.
"Only—why not say what you want? Why these roundabout ways to your purpose? Have you, by any chance, been educated for the bar?"
"That's the explanation," laughed Peter. "I'm to be admitted to practise next year. Meanwhile, circumlocution's my specialty."
"It is!" said P. Sybarite with conviction. "Well ... back in five minutes...."