"What's that? Credence in the story? Of course not, Doctor. I'm not such
a fool as I may look. Wynne's playing a game on us, and at this moment
he is probably seated in Brellier's study having a laugh at the rest of
us, waitin' up for him anxiously, like a lot of scared old women. Heigho!
I'm tired.... You're interested in firearms, Doctor. Here's my little
pet, my sleepin' companion, you understand, that has been with me through
many a hot campaign." He leaned over and took a little revolver out of
the drawer of the little cabinet that stood by the bedside. The doctor,
who had a remarkably fine collection of firearms, handled it with
practised hands, remarked upon its good points, cocked the tiny thing,
and then lifting his head looked Nigel straight in the eyes.

"I see you keep it loaded, my boy," he said quietly.

Merriton laughed.

"Yes. Habit, I suppose. One needed a loaded revolver in the jungle where
every black man's hand was against you. Nice little toy, isn't it?"

"Yes. Looks very business-like, too."

"It is. Twice now it has saved my life. I owe it a good turn.... Well,"
laying the thing down upon the top of the cabinet and turning to the
doctor with a smile. "I suppose you'll be turning in now. Pleasant
dreams, old chap, and plenty of 'em. If you hear anything of Wynne--"

"I'll let you know," broke in the doctor, returning the smile
affectionately. "Good-night."