My friend was standing close to the bar, pointing with one hand to the broken guard of his watch, which dangled loosely over the lapels of his waistcoat. His face was towards me, and from his gestures, as well as from the words he had uttered, I could see that some one had made free with his chronometer, and that he believed the thief to be the elegant already described.
The latter was between me and the Hibernian, and, as he stood facing his accuser, I could as yet see only his back.
But the suspicious “click” I had heard, caused me to step hastily to one side; and this brought me in sight of the ugly weapon poised in the fellow’s hand, with its muzzle pointed directly at the head of my fellow-voyager, who, seemingly taken by surprise, was making no effort to get out of the way!
All this had passed within a second of time.
Impelled by a sort of instinct, I sprang forward and clutched the pistol around the lock.
Whether I saved the life of my friend by so doing, I cannot say; but the shot was not delivered; and in the subsequent struggle between myself and the stranger, for possession of the pistol, the cap was wrenched off, and the weapon remained in my hands.
Seeing it was harmless, I returned it to its owner, with a word of caution to him not to be so ready in drawing such dangerous weapons in the middle of a crowd.
“Sacré!” shouted he, addressing himself more particularly to my fellow-voyager; “you shall repent this insult—sacr-r-ré!”
“Insult, indeed!” stammered out the Hibernian—whom, as he would not desire his real name to be known, I shall call Casey. “I repeat it, then, my fine fellow! My watch is gone—it was taken from my fob here: you see this, gentlemen?” and Casey exhibited to the crowd the wrenched swivel. “It was he who did it: I repeat that he is the thief!”
The Frenchman fairly foamed with rage at this fresh accusation; while, by his gestures, he appeared as if desirous of recapping the pistol.