I persist in saying that I perceived the
thing as a whole. From the first I had divined the maneuver of the
Dutchman.
"Look!" he repeated, flinging open a door and thrusting in the candle to
cast its light over ranks and ranges of metal. It was the gun room of
the Residence. Here dwelt the law. Shotguns, repeating rifles, old-style
revolvers, new, blue automatics. An arsenal!
"Big brown muscles!" he cried, with a ponderous disdain. "What are they?
What is the strongest brown man? _Puff!_ To a man of purpose and
indomitable will like me! Obstacles? Three husbands? _Puff-puff-puff!_
Like that!--But all that will never be of use to _him_. That Signet! No,
he is a street snipe who will steal a pocketbook and call it a crime. He
is afraid to grasp.--But it is close in here, is it not?"
It was too bald. He stepped across the floor, unlatched and threw open
the blind of the window, letting the candlelight stream forth upon a
mass of bougainvillaea vine without.
"I keep this door locked; you can imagine that," he laughed, returning
and shutting us out of the gun room. He twisted the key; put it in his
pocket. And there, at the back, that window blind stood open.
He stared at Signet, as if the beach comber were just discovered.
"You are hopeless, my dear sir.
Pages:
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534