“Look here, Mr. Langdon!” he said, with a certain vivacity of manner, as if wishing to call away his attention,—­“this is my armory.”

The Doctor threw open the door of a small cabinet, where were disposed in artistic patterns various weapons of offence and defence,—­for he was a virtuoso in his way, and by the side of the implements of the art of healing had pleased himself with displaying a collection of those other instruments, the use of which renders them necessary.

“See which of these weapons you would like best to carry about you,” said the Doctor.

Mr. Bernard laughed, and looked at the Doctor as if he half doubted whether he was in earnest.

“This looks dangerous enough,” he said,—­“for the man that carries it, at least.”

He took down one of the prohibited Spanish daggers or knives which a traveller may occasionally get hold of and smuggle out of the country.  The blade was broad, trowel-like, but the point drawn out several inches, so as to look like a skewer.

“This must be a jealous bull-fighter’s weapon,” he said, and put it back in its place.

Then he took down an ancient-looking broad-bladed dagger, with a complex aspect about it, as if it had some kind of mechanism connected with it.

“Take care!” said the Doctor; “there is a trick to that dagger.”

He took it and touched a spring.  The dagger split suddenly into three blades, as when one separates the forefinger and the ring-finger from the middle one.  The outside blades were sharp on their outer edge.  The stab was to be made with the dagger shut, then the spring touched and the split blades withdrawn.

Mr. Bernard replaced it, saying, that it would have served for side-arm to old Suwarrow, who told his men to work their bayonets back and forward when they pinned a Turk, but to wriggle them about in the wound when they stabbed a Frenchman.

“Here,” said the Doctor, “this is the thing you want.”

He took down a much more modern and familiar implement,—­a small, beautifully finished revolver.

“I want you to carry this,” he said; “and more than that, I want you to practise with it often, as for amusement, but so that it may be seen and understood that you are apt to have a pistol about you.  Pistol-shooting is pleasant sport enough, and there is no reason why you should not practise it like other young fellows.  And now,” the Doctor said, “I have one other weapon to give you.”

He took a small piece of parchment and shook a white powder into it from one of his medicine-jars.  The jar was marked with the name of a mineral salt, of a nature to have been serviceable in case of sudden illness in the time of the Borgias.  The Doctor folded the parchment carefully and marked the Latin name of the powder upon it.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Mr. Bernard,—­“you see what it is, and you know what service it can render.  Keep these two protectors about your person day and night; they will not harm you, and you may want one or the other or both before you think of it.”