In a baize-lined mahogany case with glass panels, two rifles stood in a rack which was designed to take four.
"My gracious goodness me!" exclaimed Ermyntrude. The key was in the lock, the Inspector turned it, and opened the case. "A Holland & Holland, and a Rigby," he said, after examining the two rifles.
"That's what I told you," said Ermyntrude mechanically.
"Are there any cartridges for any of the three rifles, or did you turn them in when Mr. Fanshawe died?"
"Oh, I don't know! I can't remember. There used to be cartridges in that drawer."
The Inspector pulled it open, disclosing various gun accessories, and a broken box containing a handful of cartridges. "I'll take these, if you please," he said.
"Take what you like," said Ermyntrude. "Oh dear, whatever does this mean?"
"It means, madam, that your husband was shot by someone who had access to these guns."
Ermyntrude flung out her hands in a wide gesture. "But that's anyone!"
"It can't be quite anyone," said the Inspector. "It must have been someone who knew the house pretty well."