She had taken a lesson from him. Instead of holding the heavy weapon extended, the butt of it and her forearm rested on the table, the muzzle pointed, not at his head, but his chest. And he, looking coolly and obeying her commands, knew there was no chance of the kick-up of the recoil producing a miss. Also, he saw that the revolver did not wabble, nor the hand shake, and he was thoroughly conversant with the size of hole the soft-nosed bullets could make. He had eyes, not for her, but for the hammer, which had risen under the pressure of her forefinger on the trigger. “I reckon I'd best warn you that that there trigger-pull is filed dreadful fine. Don't press too hard, or I'll have a hole in me the size of a walnut.” She slacked the hammer partly down. “That's better,” he commented. “You'd best put it down all the way. You see how easy it works. If you want to, a quick light pull will jiffy her up and back and make a pretty mess all over your nice floor.” A door opened behind him, and he heard somebody enter the room. But he did not turn his bead. He was looking at her, and he found it the face of another woman--hard, cold, pitiless yet brilliant in its beauty. The eyes, too, were hard, though blazing with a cold light. “Thomas,” she commanded, “go to the telephone and call the police. Why were you so long in answering?” “I came as soon as I heard the bell, madam,” was the answer. The robber never took his eyes from hers, nor did she from his, but at mention of the bell she noticed that his eyes were puzzled for the moment. “Beg your pardon,” said the butler from behind, “but wouldn't it be better for me to get a weapon and arouse the servants?” “No; ring for the police. I can hold this man. Go and do it--quickly.” The butler slippered out of the room, and the man and the woman sat on, gazing into each other's eyes. To her it was an experience keen with enjoyment, and in her mind was the gossip of her crowd, and she saw notes in the society weeklies of the beautiful young Mrs. Setliffe capturing an armed robber single-handed. It would create a sensation, she was sure. “When you get that sentence you mentioned,” she said coldly, “you will have time to meditate upon what a fool you have been, taking other persons' property and threatening women with revolvers. You will have time to learn your lesson thoroughly. Now tell the truth. You haven't any friend in trouble. All that you told me was lies.” He did not reply. Though his eyes were upon her, they seemed blank. In truth, for the instant she was veiled to him, and what he saw was the wide sunwashed spaces of the West, where men and women were bigger than the rotten denizens, as he had encountered them, of the thrice rotten cities of the East. “Go on. Why don't you speak? Why don't you lie some more? Why don't you beg to be let off?” “I might,” he answered, licking his dry lips. “I might ask to be let off if...” “If what?” she demanded peremptorily, as he paused.