THE GRAY CAT
would have noticed that all the time it watched not only Breddon, but also that object which had chinked as Breddon had put it down behind the decanters.
The Archdeacon lay back in his chair and laughed heartily.
'What funny creatures they are, and never so funny as when they lose their tempers! Really, Mr. Gray, out of respect to my cloth, you might have refrained from swearing like that. Poor Mr. Gray! Poor puss!'
Breddon resumed his seat with a grim smile. The gray cat slowly subsided, and then thrust its head, as though demanding sympathy, into the fat palm of the Archdeacon's dependent hand.
Suddenly the Archdeacon's eye lighted on the object which the cat had been watching, visible now that the servant had displaced the decanters.
'Goodness me!' he exclaimed, 'you've got a revolver there.'
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