He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. " Upon which he drew the trigger of the pistol, which, luckily for the individual against whom it was aimed, flashed in the pan. ‘I do not command your services, mon major. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. A sinister thought edged in. “You should probably wash all of that stuff off of yourself. "All my life I've dreamed of something like this," he said, divertingly, with a gesture which included the yacht. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat.
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