The boat was slowly drifting down the river.
“Look out!” cried Lupin, quickly.
Someone on the bank was pointing a revolver. Lupin stooped, a shot was fired; it struck the water beyond the boat. Lupin burst into laughter.
“God bless me! It’s my friend Ganimard! But it was very wrong of you to do that, Ganimard. You have no right to shoot except in self-defense. Does poor Lupin worry you so much that you forget yourself?... Now, be good, and don’t shoot again!... If you do you will hit our English friend.”
He stood behind Sholmes, facing Ganimard, and said:
“Now, Ganimard, I am ready! Aim for his heart!... Higher!... A little to the left.... Ah! you missed that time ... deuced bad shot.... Try again.... Your hand shakes, Ganimard.... Now, once more ... one, two, three, fire!... Missed!... Parbleu! the authorities furnish you with toy-pistols.”
Lupin drew a long revolver and fired without taking aim. Ganimard put his hand to his hat: the bullet had passed through it.
“What do you think of that, Ganimard! Ah! that’s a real revolver! A genuine English bulldog. It belongs to my friend, Herlock Sholmes.”
And, with a laugh, he threw the revolver to the shore, where it landed at Ganimard’s feet.
Sholmes could not withhold a smile of admiration. What a torrent of youthful spirits! And how he seemed to enjoy himself! It appeared as if the sensation of peril caused him a physical pleasure; and this extraordinary man had no other purpose in life than to seek for dangers simply for the amusement it afforded him in avoiding them.