“Now let me _tell_ you,” said Sir Peter, “let me _tell_ you the proper way to use a revolver. You whip it out and _instantly_ let fly at the ground. You should never let anyone see a revolver ever before they hear it—see? You let fly at the ground first off, and the concussion stuns them. It doesn’t stun you. _You_ expect it, _they_ don’t. See? There you are—five shots left, master of the situation.” “I think, Sir Peter, I’ll bid you good-night,” said the Lord Chancellor, allowing his eye to rest for one covetous moment on the decanter, and struggling with the devil of pride. Sir Peter made a gesture of extreme friendliness from his chair, expressive of the Lord Chancellor’s freedom to do whatever he pleased at Shonts. “I may perhaps tell you a little story that happened once in Morocco.” “My eyes won’t keep open any longer,” said Captain Douglas suddenly, with a whirl of his knuckles into his sockets, and stood up. Lord Woodenhouse stood up too. “You see,” said Sir Peter, standing also but sticking to his subject and his hearer. “This was when I was younger than I am now, you must understand, and I wasn’t married. Just mooching about a bit, between business and pleasure. Under such circumstances one goes into parts of a foreign town where one wouldn’t go if one was older and wiser....” Captain Douglas left Sir Peter and Woodenhouse to it. He emerged on the landing and selected one of the lighted candlesticks upon the table. “Lord!” he whispered. He grimaced in soliloquy and then perceived the Lord Chancellor regarding him with suspicion and disfavour from the ascending staircase. He attempted ease. For the first time since the train incident he addressed Lord Moggeridge. “I gather, my lord,—don’t believe in ghosts?” he said. “No, Sir,” said the Lord Chancellor, “I don’t.” “They won’t trouble me to-night.” “They won’t trouble any of us.” “Fine old house anyhow,” said Captain Douglas. The Lord Chancellor disdained to reply. He went on his way upstairs. § 4