Rouletabille examined it closely and looked into the empty barrel out of which had sped the ball which had dealt death; then he compared the pistol with that which he had found under the panel and which had fallen from the hand of the assassin. The latter was a “bull dog” and bore the mark of a London gunsmith; it seemed to be quite new, every barrel was filled and Rouletabille declared that it had never been fired.
“Larsan only avails himself of firearms in the last extremity,” said the young man. “He hates noise of any kind. You may be sure that he intended merely to frighten you with his revolver, otherwise he would have fired it immediately.”
Rouletabille examined the barrel of Darzac’s revolver, and then compared the weapon with the other which he held.
And Rouletabille returned M. Darzac’s revolver and put Larsan’s in his pocket.
“Of what use is it to be armed now?” cried M. Darzac, shaking his head. “I assure you it is quite futile.”
“You believe so?” demanded Rouletabille.
“I am certain of it.”
Rouletabille made a few steps through the room and said:
“With Larsan, one can never be sure of anything. Where is the body?”