"What do you mean?" she demanded.
Garson walked to and fro nervously as he answered.
"S'pose the bulls get tired of you putting it over on 'em and try
some rough work?"
Mary smiled carelessly.
"Don't worry, Joe," she advised. "I know a way to stop it."
"Well, so far as that goes, so do I," the forger said, with
significant emphasis.
"Just what do you mean by that?" Mary demanded, suspiciously.
"For rough work," he said, "I have this." He took a magazine
pistol from his pocket. It was of an odd shape, with a barrel
longer than is usual and a bell-shaped contrivance attached to
the muzzle.
"No, no, Joe," Mary cried, greatly discomposed. "None of
that--ever!"
The forger smiled, and there was malignant triumph in his
expression.
"Pooh!" he exclaimed. "Even if I used it, they would never get
on to me. See this?" He pointed at the strange contrivance on
the muzzle.
Mary's curiosity made her forget for a moment her distaste.
"What is it?" she asked, interestedly. "I have never seen
anything like that before.
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