There was a look on Peter's face that did not become it. An
insurance company would not have considered Curlew's life at that moment
a fair risk.
But when Peter's arm descended it did so gently, put the inkstand back
on the desk, and taking a pocket-handkerchief wiped a splash of ink from
the hand that had a moment before been throttling Curlew. That worthy
struggled up from his back-breaking attitude and the few parts of his
face not drenched with ink, were very white, while his hands trembled
more than had Peter's a moment before.
"Peter!" cried Ogden. "What is it?"
"I lost my temper for a moment," said Peter.
"But who fired that shot?"
Peter turned to the clerks. "Leave the room," he said, "all of you. And
keep this to yourselves. I don't think the other floors could have heard
anything through the fire-proof brick, but if any one comes, refer them
to me." As the office cleared, Peter turned to his partners and said:
"Mr. Curlew came here with a message which he thought needed the
protection of a revolver.
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