“I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand. He inspected the formidable array of rifles and at length walked over to the register. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. Detention was merry for the other detainees. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. The Jacobite. Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh.
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