"Fifteen years, I think, Mr. Greene said. Ah, yes—a long time ago. Eheu! fugaces, Postume, Postume, labuntur anni. It's very depressin'. And do you recall, doctor, if Mr. Greene had a revolver along on that particular outing?"
"Since you mention it, I believe I do recall his having one, though again I should choose not to be definite on the subject."
"Perhaps you may recollect if he used it for target practice." Vance's tone was dulcet and uneager. "Popping away at tree-boles and tin cans and what not, don't y' know."
Von Blon nodded reminiscently.
"Ye-es. It's quite possible. . . ."
"And you yourself may have done a bit of desult'ry popping, what?"
"To be sure, I may have." Von Blon spoke musingly, like one recalling childish pranks. "Yes, it's wholly possible."
Vance lapsed into a disinterested silence, and the doctor, after a moment's hesitation, rose.
"I must be going, I'm afraid." And with a gracious bow he started toward the door. "Oh, by the way," he said, pausing, "I almost forgot that Mrs. Greene told me she desired to see you gentlemen before you went. Forgive me if I suggest that it might be wise to humor her. She's something of a dowager, you know, and her invalidism has made her rather irritable and exacting."
"I'm glad you mentioned Mrs. Greene, doctor." It was Vance who spoke. "I've been intending to ask you about her. What is the nature of her paralysis?"
