He drew a long breath, and Aggie poured him a third cup of tea.
"I dare say this will finish everything," he said dejectedly. "I can't offer her any excitement like this. We live in a quiet suburb, where nobody ever fires a revolver except on the Fourth of July."
"What she needs," Tish said, bending forward, "is a lesson, Mr. Bell—something to make her hate the very thought of a moving picture and shudder at the sound of a shot."
"Exactly," said Mr. Bell. "I've thought of that. Something to make her gun-shy and camera-shy. It's curious about her. In some ways she's a timid girl. She's afraid of thunder, for one thing."
Tish bent forward. "Do you know," she said, "the greatest weapon in the world?"
"Weapon? Well, I don't know. These new German guns—"
"The greatest weapon in the world," Tish explained, "is ridicule. Man is helpless against it. To be absurd is to be lost. When the bandits take the money, where do they go?"
"Down the other side from the pass. A photographer will photograph them there, making their escape with the loot."
"And the young lady?"
"I've told you that," he said bitterly. "She is to be captured by the attacking party."