With her left hand she cautiously extracted his revolver and backed away with it to the table.
"If you'd lied to me I should have killed you; do you understand?"
"Yes'm," murmured The Hopper meekly.
She had spoken as though homicide were a common incident of her life, but a gleam of humor in the eyes she was watching vigilantly abated her severity.
"You may sit down—there, please!"
She pointed to a much bepillowed davenport and The Hopper sank down on it, still with his hands up. To his deepening mystification she backed to the windows and lowered the shades, and this done she sat down with the table between them, remarking,—
"You may put your hands down now, Mr. ——?"
He hesitated, decided that it was unwise to give any of his names; and respecting his scruples she said with great magnanimity:—
"Of course you wouldn't want to tell me your name, so don't trouble about that."
She sat, wholly tranquil, her arms upon the table, both hands caressing the small automatic, while his own revolver, of different pattern and larger caliber, lay close by. His status was now established as that of a gentleman making a social call upon a lady who, in the pleasantest manner imaginable and yet with undeniable resoluteness, kept a deadly weapon pointed in the general direction of his person.