He unhooked the pistol from where it hung, and carried it back to the table.
There he laid it down, and drew up his chair in front of it.

For a moment, silence fell as he remained there studying the automatic--silence save for the faint, far hum of the city, the occasional melodious note of steamer-whistles on the river.
The Master's face, now that full light brought out its details, showed a white scar that led from his right ear down along jaw and throat, till the collar masked it.

Gray hairs, beyond those of his age, sprinkled his temples.

Strangely he smiled as he observed the nicks and deep excoriations in stock and barrel of the formidable weapon.
He reached out, took up the gun once more, weighed it, got the feel of it, patted it with affection.
"We've been through some wonderful times together, old pal, you and I," said he.

"We thought it was all over, didn't we, for a while?
But it's not! Life's not done, yet.