“I suppose this discovery about the silencer is responsible for the deputation waiting in the courtyard,” he said drily. “The police don’t know about it yet,” replied Bruce; “at least they didn’t when I left.” Robin shook his head dubiously. “If the servants know it, Manderton will worm it out of them. Hasn’t he cross-examined Jay?” “Yes,” said Bruce. “But he got nothing out of him about this. Manderton seems to have put everybody’s back up. He gets nothing out of the servants ...” “If Parrish had had this silencer for some time, you may be sure that other people know about it. These silencers must be pretty rare in England. You see, an average person like myself didn’t know what it was. By the way, another point which we haven’t yet cleared up is this: supposing we are right in believing Parrish to have been murdered, how do you explain the fact that the bullet removed from his body fitted his pistol?” “That’s a puzzler, I must say!” said Bruce. “There’s only one possible explanation, I think,” Robin went on, “and that is that Parrish was shot by a pistol of exactly the same calibre as his own. For the murderer to have killed Parrish with his own weapon would have been difficult without a struggle. But Miss Trevert heard no struggle. For murderer and his victim to have pistols of the same calibre argues a rather remarkable coincidence, I grant you. But then life is full of coincidences! We meet them every day in the law. Though, I admit, this is a coincidence which requires some explaining ...” He fell into a brown study which Bruce interrupted by suddenly remembering that he had had no lunch. For answer Robin pointed at the sideboard. “There’s a cloth in there,” he said, “also the whisky, if my laundress has left any, and a siphon and there should be some claret—Mrs. Bragg doesn’t care about red wine. Set the table, and I’ll take a root round in the kitchen and dig up some tinned stuff.” They supped off a tinned tongue and some _pâté de foie gras_. Over their meal Bruce told Robin of his adventure in the library at Harkings. “Jeekes must have collected that letter,” Bruce said. “Before I came to you, I went to Lincoln’s Inn Fields to see if he was still at Bardy’s—Parrish’s solicitor, you know. But the office was closed, and the place in darkness. I went on to the Junior Pantheon, that’s Jeekes’s club, but he wasn’t in. He hadn’t been there all day, the porter told me. So I left a note asking him to ring you up here ...” “The case reeks of blackmail,” said Robin thoughtfully, “but I am wondering how much we shall glean from this precious letter when we do see it. I am glad you asked Jeekes to ring me up, though. He should be able to tell us something about these mysterious letters on the blue paper that used to put Parrish in such a stew ... Hullo, who can that be?” An electric bell trilled through the flat. It rang once ... twice ... and then a third time, a long, insistent peal.