And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. Hartford had a very respectable sound. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Alarmed by the noise of the scuffle, Quilt and Sharples rushed to the assistance of their comrade. " "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement. After all, what could happen? He was looking at her very hard and earnestly.
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