The revolver was then in its infancy; but it did exist; and by dusk
I was owner of as fine a specimen as could be procured in the city
of London. It had but five chambers, but the barrel was ten inches
long; one had to cap it, and to put in the powder and the wadded
bullet separately; but the last-named would have killed an elephant.
The oak case that I bought with it cumbers my desk as I write, and,
shut, you would think that it had never contained anything more
lethal than fruit-knives. I open it, and there are the green-baize
compartments, one with a box of percussion caps, still apparently
full, another that could not contain many more wadded-bullets, and
a third with a powder-horn which can never have been much lighter.
Within the lid is a label bearing the makers' names; the gentlemen
themselves are unknown to me, even if they are still alive;
nevertheless, after five-and-forty years, let me dip my pen to Messrs.
Deane, Adams and Deane!

That night I left this case in my room, locked, and the key in my
waistcoat pocket; in the right-hand side-pocket of my overcoat I
carried my Deane and Adams, loaded in every chamber; also my right
hand, as innocently as you could wish. And just that night I was
not followed! I walked across Regent's Park, and I dawdled on
Primrose Hill, without the least result. Down I turned into the
Avenue Road, and presently was strolling between green fields
towards Finchley. The moon was up, but nicely shaded by a thin
coating of clouds which extended across the sky: it was an ideal
night for it. It was also my last night in town, and I did want
to give the beggars their last chance. But they did not even
attempt to avail themselves of it: never once did they follow me:
my ears were in too good training to make any mistake. And the