“Most likely,” said I, beginning to get hot and cold at the same time. “Why, do you mean to say you didn’t, then?”
“Didn’t what?”
“Shoot him.”
“Shoot him? Me shoot? I no more shot the beast than you did.”
The perspiration started to my forehead.
“But the pistol. Dux?”
“What pistol?”
“The one I found in your locker, when I went to get your book, you know.”
“That thing? It’s been there all the term. It hasn’t even got a trigger!”
“It’s not there now. It’s at the bottom of the pond.”