"That's the weapon," said the cheerful Whiteside. "An ugly-looking brute, isn't it?"
"Where did you say it was discovered?"
"At the bottom of the girl's work-basket."
"This has a familiar look to me," said Tarling, lifting the instrument from the table. "By-the-way, is the cartridge still in the chamber?"
Whiteside shook his head.
"No, I removed it," he said. "I've taken the magazine out too."
"I suppose you've sent out the description and the number to all the gunsmiths?"
Whiteside nodded.
"Not that it's likely to be of much use," he said. "This is an American-made pistol, and unless it happens to have been sold in England there is precious little chance of our discovering its owner."
Tarling was looking at the weapon, turning it over and over in his hand. Presently he looked at the butt and uttered an exclamation. Following the direction of his eyes, Whiteside saw two deep furrows running diagonally across the grip.