"To put the pistols away," answered Loftus, who was turning to the house.
"Are they loaded?"
"No, sir; not now."
"I'd not permit a loaded pistol to come inside my house, look you, Albert. You'll shoot yourself, sir; that's what you'll do. And it's poor Talbot, is it? I knew his father when I lived in Bermondsey."
Away went Loftus, feeling no security that the pistols were not going to be confiscated here. He locked them up in the room he occupied when staying at his uncle's, and came forth again directly, delivering the Head Master's message as he passed Sir Simon.
"Very well; I'll come, tell Dr. Brabazon. I suppose he is going to complain of this underhanded act of yours."
Mr. Loftus supposed so too: had supposed nothing else since the message was given him.
"Here; stop a bit; don't stride off like that. I suppose you must eat, though you have done your best to kill a boy. Will you have some dinner? There's a beautiful couple of ducks."
"I can't stay, Uncle Simon: the Head Master ordered me back at once. Thank you all the same."
Sir Simon nodded, and Bertie set off back again; leaving Pond Place behind him, and the cherished pistols that had come altogether to grief.