“Twenty-five yards, sir—about,” replied Reg.
“You got quite a lot of shots on the targets, didn't you?” said Hemingway gravely.
“Yessir!” said Reg, with simple pride. “I was trying to get a good group, like Ted does. If I could practice regular, I soon would.”
“Well, what you want to do is to join a Rifle Club, my lad, and not go practising with other people's rifles in public places,” said Hemingway, handing him back his targets. “What time was it when you were in the gravel-pit?”
“It would have been a bit after five when I got there, sir, and I wasn't there more 'n an hour, that I'll swear to, and I should say it was less, because I was back home by half-past six. And please, sir Mum, and Edie, and Claud will tell you the same, because—”
“Yes, well, if I want to check up on your story I'll ask them!” said the Chief Inspector hastily, mentally registering a resolve to depute this task to Harbottle. “What I want to know at the moment is what you did with the rifle when you got home?”
“I cleaned it, sir, like Ted showed me.”
“Yes, and then?”
“I didn't do anything with it, sir, beyond wrap it up in a bit of sacking. Ted said—”
“Never mind what Ted said! Did you lock it up in the shed?”