The door opened to admit a young man, who advanced towards his visitors with a questioning glance. His appearance, though military, was far from suggesting the sordid warfare of the trenches. He was well-groomed and handsome, and wore his spotless uniform with that touch of distinction which khaki lends to some men.
"Good afternoon," he said, and waited for them to announce the object of their visit.
"Are you Captain Nepcote?" Merrington asked.
"My name is Nepcote," was the response. "May I ask who you are?" His glance included both his visitors.
"My name is Merrington," responded that officer, answering for himself. "Superintendent Merrington, of Scotland Yard. This is Mr. Colwyn, a private detective," he added, as an afterthought. "I wish to ask you a few questions. I understand you were staying at the residence of Sir Philip Heredith when young Mrs. Heredith was murdered."
"That is not quite accurate," replied the young man. "I left the moat-house on the afternoon of the day that the murder was committed, and returned to London. What is it you wish to ask me? I am afraid I cannot enlighten you about the crime in any way, for I know nothing whatever about it. It came as a great shock to me when I heard of it."
"Is this your revolver?" said Merrington, producing the weapon and laying it on the table.
"Why, yes, it is," said the young man, picking it up and looking at it in unmistakable surprise. "Where did you get it?"
"Where did you have it last?" was Merrington's cautious rejoinder.
"Let me think," returned Nepcote thoughtfully. "Oh, I remember. The last time I saw it was at the moat-house on the day before my departure. We were using it for a little target practice in the gun-room downstairs."