"Yes, here it is in its accustomed place."
He handed the weapon to the reporter, who examined it attentively.
"Exactly," said Sturgis, with satisfaction; "this is what I was looking for."
"What do you mean?" asked Dunlap.
"I mean that this is the revolver which was fired twice last night in the Knickerbocker bank. See for yourself; two of the cartridges are empty, and the weapon has not been cleaned since these shots were fired."
"But who can have fired the pistol, and at whom was it fired, and why?"
"Hold on! hold on!" exclaimed Sturgis, smiling; "one thing at a time. We shall perhaps come to that soon. For the present, if you will come back to your private office, I shall endeavor to piece together the scraps of evidence which I have been able to collect. There, sit down in your own armchair, if you will, while I fit these bits of paper together; and in less than ten minutes I shall probably be ready to proceed with my story."
Dunlap was still nervous and impatient; but all trace of amusement and skepticism had vanished from his face, as he took the proffered armchair and watched Sturgis patiently piece together the tiny fragments of paper he had so carefully gathered. When this work was accomplished, the reporter went to the typewriter and wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper. He next proceeded to examine under the microscope the minute fragments and particles which he had collected in his search.
When he had finished this operation, he leaned back in his chair and looked up into space for what seemed to Dunlap an interminable length of time. Then at last he glanced over at the banker, who could hardly contain his growing impatience.
"I am ready to go on now," said Sturgis, reaching for a sheet of paper, upon which he began to draw with ruler and pencil.