Sergeant Tish suddenly strained forward, his eyes bulging from out of his plump round face, staring in open-mouthed and bewildered amazement at the .44 on the desk. "Where did you get that gun?" he gasped, lunging out of the chair and making a dive for it, getting his hands on it before Griggs could stop him. "Where did you get my gun?" Ham Griggs snorted derisively. "Your gun? This here ain't your gun. It belongs to that prisoner I got downstairs, and he shot a woman with it last night. That's the murder case I'm workin' on." Tish's face was a strange study of emotion. "It's my gun!" he shouted. "Here's a little place chipped off one of the butt plates. Sure it's my gun. Police department issue--you can tell that by the serial number. Sure, it's my gun--the one Don Haskins took off of me yesterday when he knocked me out. And you say that a woman was shot with it--murdered? You say that you took it off a prisoner, and that you've got him here? You mean that you've got Haskins locked up?" The questions all jerked out with no pause, leaving him breathless, his fat cheeks quivering. Constable Griggs was speechless, and Wiggly Price's ears seemed determined to work themselves loose from his head. "You're dead sure, sergeant, that it is your gun?" Wiggly demanded tensely. "It--it's very important that there should be no mistake about this." "Don't you suppose I know my own gun?" snapped Sergeant Tish. "That's a funny question, askin' a cop if he knows his own gun. I want Haskins, and I want him now." Constable Griggs found things happening just a little too fast for his slow wits. "I think you must be plumb crazy," he sputtered. "The prisoner we got is named Sarbella, an Eyetalian feller; he's the one that shot the woman with the gun. Gimme it back." "Like thunder I'll give it back!" retorted Sergeant Tish. "Wait!" said Wiggly. "I--I think I'm beginning to see some daylight. Haskins was a crook; some good-looking, swell-dressed woman brought him money--posed as his rich sister. And the minute Haskins got nabbed he made tracks for Ardmore. The cheap, ten-cents-a-pack cigarettes! Just the kind that Haskins might be expected to smoke. Haskins had Sergeant Tish's gun--and that's the gun that killed her. Don't you understand, constable? We've made a bad mistake because we didn't know anything about Haskins. The murderer was Haskins--the crook!" And for the moment Wiggly forgot all about the black hairpin. CHAPTER XX A QUEER JUMBLE "Haskins killed her!" Wiggly Price repeated excitedly. "We're on the right trail; there doesn't seem to be any other explanation now. Haskins, the crook, shot her--with that gun."