"I should think--"
"There!" Peter interrupted placidly, withdrawing the magazine clip
from its slot in the butt and returning the now harmless mechanism.
"Now run along. Fire-escape's outside the far window in the bedroom,
yonder."
"What the deuce! What's the matter with you? Hand over that clip. What
good is this gun without it?"
"For your present purpose, it's better than if loaded," Peter asserted
complacently. "For purposes of intimidation--which is all you want of
it--grand! And it can't go off by accident and make you an
unintentional murderer."
P. Sybarite's jaw dropped and his eyes opened; but after an instant,
he nodded in entire agreement.
"That's a head you have on your shoulders, boy!" said he. "As for
mine, I've a notion that it has never really jelled."
He turned toward the bedroom, but paused.
"Only--why not say what you want? Why these roundabout ways to your
purpose? Have you, by any chance, been educated for the bar?"
"That's the explanation," laughed Peter. "I'm to be admitted to
practise next year. Meanwhile, circumlocution's my specialty."
"It is!" said P. Sybarite with conviction. "Well ... back in five
minutes...."
Of all his weird adventures, this latest pleased him least. It's one
thing to take chances under cover of night when your heart is light,
your pockets heavy, and wine is buzzing wantonly within your head: but
another thing altogether to burglarise your enemy's apartments via the
fire-escape, in broad daylight, and cold-sober.
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