"I smoke only my own particular kind," he said, "ah! now I remember. I left some in Joyce's study. I will go and look for them. Will you come also, Señor? We had better smoke in the study. Joyce does not like the smoke in this room--" he cast a look round and shrugged, "this ugly room," said Don Manuel spitefully. Herrick followed rather because he wished to keep this shifty creature in sight than because he wanted to smoke. Manuel went to the writing table and shifted the papers about. He searched the mantelpiece, and then casting his eyes on a tobacco cabinette walked towards that. "He had found them and put them in there," said Manuel and pulled open several drawers. The Cabinet was at Herrick's elbow, and he could see into all the drawers as the Mexican opened them. In the lowest drawer was a pistol. Don Manuel took it out. "A strange place to keep a revolver," he said. "No, it is not a revolver what can it be--so large--so clumsy, Señor?" Herrick took the weapon handed to him while Manuel continued his search for the cigarettes. A frightful suspicion flashed into his mind as he saw the old-fashioned weapon in the Mexican's hand. He remembered that the death wound had been inflicted by a roughly cast bullet, and that at the inquest it was said such had been fired from an antique pistol. Here was the very thing in his hand--an old pistol, silver-mounted, and clumsy in the extreme. The muzzle was large, and could well fire the big bullet that had passed through the heart of Carr to bury itself in the opposite wall. And this was in Joyce's house. Herrick felt sick. Manuel turned to him with a shrug. "There are no cigarettes here," he said, "Joyce has smoked them. Señor you look ill--pale." "It is nothing," replied Herrick, replacing the weapon in the cabinet "I am subject to attacks of faintness. I think Don Manuel, that you had better say nothing, to Joyce about our finding that pistol. He might not like us to be prying into his cabinet." "As you please," said Santiago with a shrug, "but Joyce would never be angry with me. What is the pistol Señor?" "Oh, some old-fashioned weapon that Joyce brought in a curiosity shop very probably," replied the doctor carelessly, "it certainly is not the kind of thing one would use." "No," replied Don Manuel equally carelessly, "an ugly thing. I will say nothing. A cigarette? Señor, I will take one of yours. Ah, there is my dear friend Joyce." While the Mexican was lighting the cigarette Robin entered, and greeted Herrick rather stiffly. It was all Jim could do to bring himself to shake hands with the man he now believed to be a criminal. Yet in spite of all he had learned, in spite of the discovery of the old-fashioned pistol, he could not yet bring himself quite to believe in Robin's guilt. He still hoped for the best, and talked easily enough. "How pale you are Jim," said Joyce abruptly, "what is the matter?" "I am so much a countryman now, that London does not agree with me."