ThepistolwastheoutcomeofthatsearchItcouldonlybeusedonthemuddiestforeshoreofthebeach，farawayfromthebathing-machinesandpierheads，belowthegrassyslopesofFortKeelingThetideranoutnearlytwomilesonthatcoast，andthemany-colouredmud-banks，touchedbythesun，sentupalamentablesmellofdeadweedItwaslateintheafternoonwhenDickandMaisiearrivedontheirground，Amommatrottingpatientlybehindthem-
’Mf！’saidMaisie，sniffingtheair’Iwonderwhatmakestheseasosmelly？Idon’tlikeit！’
’Youneverlikeanythingthatisn’tmadejustforyou，’saidDickbluntly’Givemethecartridges，andI’lltryfirstshotHowfardoesoneoftheselittlerevolverscarry？’
’Oh，halfamile，’saidMaisie，promptly’AtleastitmakesanawfulnoiseBecarefulwiththecartridges；Idon’tlikethosejaggedstick-upthingsontherimDick，dobecareful。’
’AllrightIknowhowtoloadI’llfireatthebreakwateroutthere。’