"The little-young-woman has no strength, master," he said. "Also it is not known that she has skill in the driving of the quick cart." "You mean the motor?" asked Tarling quickly, and Ling Chu nodded. "By Jove! I never thought of that," said Tarling. "Of course, whoever killed Thornton Lyne must have put his body in the car and driven him to the Park. But how do you know that she does not drive?" "Because I have asked," said the Chinaman simply. "Many people know the little-young-woman at the great Stores where the white-faced man lived, and they all say that she does not drive the quick cart." Tarling considered for a while. "Yes, it is true talk," he said. "The little-young-woman did not kill the white-faced man, because she was many miles away when the murder was committed. That we know. The question is, who did?" "The Hunter of Men will discover," said Ling Chu "I wonder," said Tarling. He dressed and went to Scotland Yard. He had an appointment with Whiteside, and later intended accompanying Odette Rider to an interview before the Assistant Commissioner. Whiteside was at Scotland Yard before him, and when Tarling walked into his room was curiously examining an object which lay before him on a sheet of paper. It was a short-barrelled automatic pistol. "Hullo!" he said, interested. "Is that the gun that killed Thornton Lyne?" "That's the weapon," said the cheerful Whiteside. "An ugly-looking brute, isn't it?" "Where did you say it was discovered?" "At the bottom of the girl's work-basket." "This has a familiar look to me," said Tarling, lifting the instrument from the table. "By-the-way, is the cartridge still in the chamber?" Whiteside shook his head. "No, I removed it," he said. "I've taken the magazine out too." "I suppose you've sent out the description and the number to all the gunsmiths?" Whiteside nodded. "Not that it's likely to be of much use," he said. "This is an American-made pistol, and unless it happens to have been sold in England there is precious little chance of our discovering its owner." Tarling was looking at the weapon, turning it over and over in his hand. Presently he looked at the butt and uttered an exclamation. Following the direction of his eyes, Whiteside saw two deep furrows running diagonally across the grip. "What are they?" he asked. "They look like two bullets fired at the holder of the revolver some years ago, which missed him but caught the butt." Whiteside laughed. "Is that a piece of your deduction, Mr. Tarling?" he asked. "No," said Tarling, "that is a bit of fact. That pistol is my own!" CHAPTER XVI THE HEIR "_Your_ pistol?" said Whiteside incredulously, "my dear good chap, you are mad! How could it be your pistol?"