“Will you come into papa’s room then? He is there.”
The sergeant was at the table, making notes in his pocket-book, when they entered. An old-fashioned revolver lay before him.
“This gentleman has come a long way on hearing about poor papa,” said the girl. “He would like to see the revolver before you take it, Mr Brewster.”
“Good-evening, sir,” said Brewster. “It’s a bad business that brings us here.”
Carrados “looked” round the room and returned the policeman’s greeting. Madeline hesitated for a moment, and then, picking up the weapon, put it into the blind man’s hand.
“A bit out of date, sir,” remarked Brewster, with a nod. “But in good order yet, I find.”
“An early French make, I should say; one of Lefaucheux’s probably,” said Carrados. “You have removed the cartridges?”
“Why, yes,” admitted the sergeant, producing a matchbox from his pocket. “They’re pin-fire, you see, and I’m not too fond of carrying a thing like that loaded in my pocket as I’m riding a young horse.”
“Quite so,” agreed Carrados, fingering the cartridges. “I wonder if you happened to mark the order of these in the chambers?”
“That was scarcely necessary, sir. Two, together, had been fired; the other four had not.”