“Good lord, sir, you don't think he'd keep it, do you?”
“I don't know. You've got to bear in mind that he thinks we're searching for a rifle. What's more, it isn't all that easy to dispose of a pistol, particularly when you haven't got a car to get you well away from your own district, to some likely pond, or something of that nature. The thing I'm afraid of is that he may have thrown it into this river I've heard so much about.”
“You needn't be afraid of that,” said the Colonel. “It's quite shallow, and at the moment there's hardly any water in it at all. I've never known such a season: we haven't had a spate since the beginning of March. He's more likely to have thrust it down a rabbit-hole, or to have buried it.”
“Not anywhere near Fox Lane, or Wood Lane, or the footpath, sir!” struck in the Sergeant. “If you happened to be thinking he might have done it straight away! We fair combed the ground there, that I'll swear to! I had five chaps out there all Sunday morning.”
“I don't see this bird burying it,” intervened Hemingway. “Nor yet pushing it down a rabbit-hole, with all respect to you, sir! If he buried it, he'd have run the risk of the new-turned earth's being spotted. There's his own garden, of course, but that seems to me even more risky, with that gardener-groom of his on the premises. As for shoving it down a rabbit-hole, I don't see him doing that. Setting aside, rabbit-holes are places we'd be bound to suspect, you never know when some dog won't sneak off hunting and start excavating the very hole you've chosen. What's more, unless he's found some place where it can stay safely for ever, it's got to be where he can retrieve it as soon as the hunt's been called off. So he wouldn't have poked it into a midden, or a haystack, or anything like that. It wouldn't altogether surprise me if he's got it hidden away somewhere in his house.”
“Well, it would me!” said the Sergeant suddenly. “Not when he knew you were on the case, sir! He wouldn't have taken any chances once he'd seen you.”
Hemingway regarded him in some amusement. “Now, come on, my lad, what do you want to borrow?” he demanded.
The Sergeant grinned, but stuck to his guns. “Look here, sir, I was with you on Sunday evening, when you met him for the first time, in the Red Lion! Do you remember I didn't have to tell him who you were, because he recognised you straight off? Talked about a case you'd been on. Well, it was plain enough that he had a pretty fair idea of what he was up against! I could tell from the way he spoke that he knew the Yard had sent down one of their best men.”
“What do you mean, one of their best men?” interrupted Hemingway.
The Colonel laughed. “Spare the Chief Inspector's blushes, Carsethorn! But he may easily be right, Hemingway. Since Plenmeller hadn't an alibi, he must have faced the possibility of having his house searched. But if you don't think he buried the gun, what do you imagine he could have done with it?”