nation. In one hand he held a revolver, in the other a cleaning instrument. A box of cartridges was open beside him. He stared at his unexpected visitors.
"Good evening, Mr. Moffett," said Astro. "What are you doing with that pistol?"
"Why—I'm—cleaning it," said Moffett. The pistol dropped from his hand as he spoke, and he turned white at the scrutiny of his interlocutor.
The Seer gazed for a moment without speaking at the small, smooth-shaven, anxious-looking man who confronted him. He wore iron spectacles and was shabbily dressed. His thin bony hands trembled visibly.
"Did you fire that pistol this evening?"
"Why, no—of course not!"
"What were you cleaning it for?"
"Why—I always carry it when I go home. I live out at Kingsbridge, and there have been so many hold-ups—"
"Did you hear a shot fired in this building to-night?"
"Good God, no!" Moffett's alarm increased. He put his hand to his head. "You don't mean—there's anything happened?" he faltered.
Instead of answering, Astro walked over, picked up the revolver from the floor, and examined it. The chambers were empty. Next, he looked at the box of cartridges. Five were missing. Of these, four were scattered on the desk.
"When did you fire this gun last?" he demanded.
"Last night—at a cat," said Moffett.
McGraw laughed aloud.
Astro went to the window, threw up the sash, and looked out. The roof of the adjoining building was
