After all Riever did come, and early, too. It still lacked a few minutes of nine. But he met Pendleton outside, who brought him in, and the two men were closeted in the front drawing-room for awhile. Pen felt by instinct that this interview boded her no good. Afterwards her father came to her in the kitchen saying: "Mr. Riever wants to say good-by to you." He avoided Pen's eye as he said it, and there were complacent little lines about the corners of his mouth. "Riever has given him more money!" Pen thought with sinking heart. Pendleton did not accompany her back to the drawing-room. Riever was waiting for her, carefully dressed in his admirable, square-cut yachting suit. He was brisk, and inclined to be effusive, signs in Pen's eyes that he was secretly uneasy. But perhaps that was natural. His eyes were as devoid of expression as an animal's; she could not guess of what he was thinking; his words came merely from his lips. "How are you?" he asked solicitously. "Ah, pale, I see! Not much sleep perhaps? Well thank God! this nasty business is about over." Pen did not feel that this required any answer. She waited. "I said I'd come to see you before I set sail this morning," Riever went on briskly--and then came to a somewhat lame pause. Pen waited in an anxiety that was like a physical pain for him to produce a check-book or a bundle of notes. But he made no such move. There was an awkward silence. Finally he said as if at random: "By the way do you know what became of Keesing's revolver? He's making a fuss about it." "I haven't it," said Pen coolly. "He said you took it from him," Riever said with a light laugh--but his eyes were tormented. "He is mistaken," said Pen. "When he fell it flew out of his hand. I don't know what became of it." "He said you carried it away in your hand." "That was the pistol you gave me in the morning ... You saw it," she added, feeling pretty sure that Riever had been in no condition to distinguish one pistol from another. "Why of course!" he said. "It's absurd." But there was no real conviction in his tones. "If you'll wait a moment I'll get it for you," said Pen. "Please don't bother," he said. "Keep it as a souvenir." There was another silence. Pen saw that he dared not accuse her openly. The matter _had_ to be threshed out to a conclusion, so she grasped her nettle firmly. "What else did Mr. Keesing tell you?" she asked scornfully. Riever's attempt to carry it off lightly was painful to see. "Oh, I don't take any stock in it," he said with his laugh. "But I ought to know, shouldn't I?" Riever laughed excessively. "Said you had no intention of giving him up until he surprised you together. Said you were just walking up and down the beach talking." His eyes were darting ugly, pained glances at her. Pen laughed too. "In the full moonlight!" she exclaimed. She was secretly relieved. If Keesing had overheard their talk he would of course have repeated it.