"Got it first time," said Tarling, dropping wearily into a chair. "Do you mind if I smoke?" "Not a bit," said the doctor cheerfully. "I suppose you're taking her with you?" Tarling nodded. "I can't imagine a girl like that committing a murder," said Dr. Saunders. "She doesn't seem to possess the physique necessary to have carried out all the etceteras of the crime. I read the particulars in the _Morning Globe_. The person who murdered Thornton Lyne must have carried him from his car and laid him on the grass, or wherever he was found--and that girl couldn't lift a large-sized baby." Tarling jerked his head in agreement. "Besides," Dr. Saunders went on, "she hasn't the face of a murderer. I don't mean to say that because she's pretty she couldn't commit a crime, but there are certain types of prettiness which have their origin in spiritual beauty, and Miss Stevens, or Rider, as I suppose I should call her, is one of that type." "I'm one with you there," said Tarling. "I am satisfied in my own mind that she did not commit the crime, but the circumstances are all against her." The telephone bell jingled, and the doctor took up the receiver and spoke a few words. "A trunk call," he said, explaining the delay in receiving acknowledgment from the other end of the wire. He spoke again into the receiver and then handed the instrument across the table to Tarling. "It's for you," he said. "I think it is Scotland Yard." Tarling put the receiver to his ear. "It is Whiteside," said a voice. "Is that you, Mr. Tarling? We've found the revolver." "Where?" asked Tarling quickly. "In the girl's flat," came the reply. Tarling's face fell. But after all, that was nothing unexpected. He had no doubt in his mind at all that the murder had been committed in Odette Rider's flat, and, if that theory were accepted, the details were unimportant, as there was no reason in the world why the pistol should not be also found near the scene of the crime. In fact, it would have been remarkable if the weapon had not been discovered on those premises. "Where was it?" he asked. "In the lady's work-basket," said Whiteside. "Pushed to the bottom and covered with a lot of wool and odds and ends of tape." "What sort of a revolver is it?" asked Tarling after a pause. "A Colt automatic," was the reply. "There were six live cartridges in the magazine and one in the breach. The pistol had evidently been fired, for the barrel was foul. We've also found the spent bullet in the fireplace. Have you found your Miss Stevens?" "Yes," said Tarling quietly. "Miss Stevens is Odette Rider." He heard the other's whistle of surprise. "Have you arrested her?" "Not yet," said Tarling. "Will you meet the next train in from Ashford? I shall be leaving here in half an hour." He hung up the receiver and turned to the doctor. "I gather they've found the weapon," said the interested medico. "Yes," replied Tarling, "they have found the weapon."