“I felt sure there wouldn’t be,” said the Chief Constable. “Very well—would you recognize that pistol if you were shown it?” “By its mark and number—yes!” answered Harry. The Chief Constable turned to Blick, who promptly drew the automatic pistol from his pocket and handed it over. Both watched curiously as Harry examined it. “That’s it!” he said. “But how——” “Mr. Markenmore!” interrupted the Chief Constable. “This is where the unpleasant part of the business comes in! That pistol was found, by Detective-Sergeant Blick himself, thrown away in a hole—a badger hole—behind the bushes in Deep Lane there, last Friday evening. Now, Mr. Markenmore, have you any idea how your pistol came to be there? For it is the automatic pistol you bought at Widdington’s—we’ve identified the number and mark.” Harry Markenmore, healthy enough in colour until then, had paled, and he was staring at the automatic pistol with a frown that was half angry and half puzzled. “I!” he exclaimed. “How should I know how it came there!” “But you’ll know what you did with the pistol when you bought it, Mr. Markenmore!” said the Chief Constable. “I gather from your last remark that it passed out of your possession. Now, Mr. Markenmore, be frank with us! To whom did you give the pistol?—or to whom did you lend it? Anyway, who’s had it?” Harry Markenmore handed the pistol back, and replaced his hands in his pockets. “Look here!” he said quietly. “You’d better be frank, too. Are you suggesting that it was a shot from that thing that caused my brother’s death?” “We think it extremely probable, Mr. Markenmore,” answered the Chief Constable. “We showed it to the police-surgeon last night, and in his opinion, it is just the sort of thing that was used.” “And whom do you suspect of using it?” demanded Harry. “Come, now?” He had assumed the rôle of examiner then, and he was watching the two men as keenly as they had watched him. The Chief Constable hesitated. “I should prefer that you tell us what you did with the pistol,” he began. “I think——” “And I prefer that you tell me whom you suspect of using it on my brother,” declared Harry. “Whatever you prefer, I’m not going to say anything that may incriminate perfectly innocent people! That’s flat—and final, too!” The Chief Constable looked at Blick. And Blick, who was beginning to size matters up, nodded. “Tell him!” he murmured. “Very well, Mr. Markenmore,” said the Chief Constable. “I’ll take the lead. We believe there is ground of suspicion against Mrs. Braxfield. We have found out that for some time she has been in the habit of firing an automatic pistol near a spinney on the edge of Markenmore Hollow in order to frighten foxes away from her chickens, and that she has often been seen there at very early hours of the morning. Now, Mr. Markenmore, is yours the pistol she used?” “What does Mrs. Braxfield herself say?” asked Harry quietly.