“Are you sure?”
“Positive, Nichols!”
The soldier’s face cleared like a lake from a storm. He beamed upon Drew. He smiled for a second time. He pointed toward the chair which the detective had quitted. “Sit down,” he said, “and make yourself at home. This is a temperance dugout, but I’ve got some real good soft stuff—grape juice or club soda. Which will you have?”
“I’ll take a cigar,” said Delaney.
Drew allowed a smile to creep over his lips. He waited as Harry Nichols dipped into a kitchenette, then came back with three glasses of soda and a huge black Havana.
“Smoke up,” he said good-naturedly to Delaney. “Light up and take a chair. It’s daybreak, isn’t it?”
“Yes, time we’re going,” said Drew, setting his empty glass upon the offered tray. “We’ll go in a minute. Now, as I told you and as you can see, this revolver is fully loaded. It looks clean. I suppose you lent it to Miss Stockbridge without any empty cartridges. These are the ordinary lead kind which can be secured at any hardware store. You’ve got some here, perhaps.”
“None here. They’re all up at Plattsburg. We do some target shooting at times. These little revolvers don’t make much noise. You can use them most anywhere.”
“That’s satisfactory,” said Drew, watching the glow of Delaney’s cigar. “That’s all right. Now, when she ’phoned for the gun or you suggested that she better have one with her, what did she say about the cemetery letter or the threat over the wire? Did she fear anything else? Was that her sole reason for having a revolver with her?”
“You cannot expect me to answer for Miss Stockbridge, Mr. Drew. She is available. You can talk to her. You represent her. I shall not say anything concerning her. She is sacred. The revolver was not discharged. It is the same as when I gave it to her in the drug-store. Therefore, I’ll trouble you for it. It’s mine. I admit that.”