He mused a moment.
"You have a gun, of course?" he inquired. "I forgot to ask."
"No," said I.
He whistled.
"Well, no wonder you feel sort of lost and hopeless! Here, take this, it'll make a man of you."
He gave me a Colt's 45, the barrel of which had been filed down to about two inches of length. It was a most extraordinary weapon, but effective at short range.
"Here's a few loose cartridges," said he. "Now go easy. This is no warship, and we ain't got men to experiment on. Lick 'em with your fists or a pin, if you can; and if you do shoot, for God's sake just wing 'em a little. They're awful good lads, but a little restless."
I took the gun and felt better. With it I could easily handle the members of my own watch, and I did not doubt that with the assistance of Percy Darrow even a surprise would hardly overwhelm us. I did not count on Dr. Schermerhorn. He was quite capable of losing himself in a problem of trajectory after the first shot.