And rising from his chair, he unlocked the drawer in the movable cupboard wherein he kept certain of his private belongings, and took therefrom a serviceable-looking revolver, which he examined and saw was fully loaded.
He also drew forth some skeleton keys, a burglar’s jemmy in two sections, a pair of india-rubber gloves, a small, thin saw, and an electric pocket-lamp, all of which he carefully stowed away in his pockets.
The contents of that drawer were a startling revelation to Jean. He had always kept it locked, and she had often wondered what it contained.
Now that she knew she stood staggered.
She looked in horror at the revolver he held in his hand, and then with a sudden movement she flung herself upon him and grasped his arms, appealing to him for the sake of her love to desist from such an adventure.
Quick and passionate came the words, the full, fervent appeal of a woman deeply and honestly in love. But he heeded not either her tears or her words, and only cast her from him with a rough malediction, declaring her to be an encumbrance.
“But think!” she cried. “Now that I know what you are I am in deadly fear that—that one day they may come, Ralph, and take you away from me.”
And she stood pale-faced and trembling before him.
“Ah, never fear, my girl,” replied her husband. “They’ll never have me. They’ve tried a good many times, haven’t they Adolphe?” and he laughed defiantly. “The police! Zut! I do not fear them!” and he snapped his thin, long fingers in contempt.
“But one day, dear—one day they may be successful. And—and what should I do?”