Rowland Biscuitt, adding, "As you—neither of you—are not without sins of your own, you would assuredly have been better off to not have thrown stones at others. "But throw them you did, I'm sure. Therefore, since time is now very important, I would suggest that we all make an even distribution of the remaining gold. Then we can go our separate ways rapidly. Now, we know that there is very little of the ancient gold in the smaller, most cleverly disguised safe in Mister Tolliver's shop, although there is a bit more in his bank box. Is that all not sold? Or is there more . . . perhaps in a hidden recess of that stone root cellar or whatever it is in the backyard here?" Fitz drew from under the cushion of his chair a M1911A1 .45 caliber service pistol. In one smooth movement, he pointed it at the two on the couch and palmed back the slide. Within the confines of the room, the metallic sounds rang loud and ugly. Biscuitt regained every bit of his earlier greenish pallor and, this time, even the Greek—staring down the black, nearly half-inch bore that was being steadily held only some seven feet from him—lost color in his face.
