"Phew!" exclaimed Kennedy. "I didn't mean to do that. I knew the
thing was loaded, but I had no idea the hair-spring ring at the
end was so delicate as to shoot it off at a touch. It's one of
those aristocratic little Apache pistols that one can carry in his
vest pocket and hide in his hand. Say, but that stung! And back
here is a little box of cartridges, too."
We looked at each other in amazement at the chance find.
Apparently the vandal had planned a series of visits.
"Now, let me see," resumed Kennedy. "I suppose our very human but
none the less mysterious intruder expected to use these again.
Well, let him try. I'll put them back here for the present. I want
to watch in the art-gallery to-night."
I could not help wondering whether, after all, it might not be an
inside job and the fixing of the window merely a blind. Or was the
vandal fascinated by the subtle influence of mysticism that so
often seems to emanate from objects that have come down from the
remote ages of the world? I could not help asking myself whether
the story that Miss White had told was absolutely true.
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