The muzzle of his revolver was very bright, and he held it in fingers which were firm as a rock.
"Give it to me!" he repeated.

"You ought to know that you are not dealing with men who are unaccustomed to death.

You have it about you.

Produce it, and I've done with you.

Deny me, and you have not time to say your prayers!" Laverick was leaning against a small table which stood near the door.
His fingers suddenly gripped the ledger which lay upon it.