unpleasant and, I must say, unrefined words passed between them. I fear the wine had been flowing too freely, for Alvin was always punctilious—he was a man, indeed, skilled in the niceties of social intercourse; and the Captain, in an outburst of temper, told Alvin that, unless he left the lady strictly alone in the future, he would pay with his life. The Captain even went so far as to draw a revolver half-way out of his pocket."
"Was it a revolver, or an automatic pistol?" asked Heath.
Pfyfe gave the District Attorney a faint smile of annoyance, without deigning even to glance at the Sergeant.
"I misspoke myself; forgive me. It was not a revolver. It was, I believe, an automatic army pistol—though, you understand, I didn't see it in its entirety."
"You say there were others who witnessed the altercation?"
"Several of my guests were standing about," Pfyfe explained; "but, on my word, I couldn't name them. The fact is, I attached little importance to the threat—indeed, it had entirely slipped my memory until I read the account of poor Alvin's death. Then I thought at once of the unfortunate incident, and said to myself: Why not tell the District Attorney. . . ?"
"Thoughts that breathe and words that burn," murmured Vance, who had been sitting through the interview in oppressive boredom.
Pfyfe once more adjusted his eye-glass, and gave Vance a withering look.
