“Perhaps you keep darts, too?”
“Yes, I’ve got some in stock.”
Sir Clinton considered for a moment.
“Let’s see. I’ll take a hundred slugs and a couple of dozen darts. You might put the whole lot in one parcel—I’ll take the brace and drill as well.”
While the man was packing up the articles, Sir Clinton made inquiries as to the position of the druggist’s shop in the village; and on leaving the ironmonger’s he made his way to it.
“Let’s see,” he reflected aloud, after he had had a few words with the druggist on local gossip. “I’ll have a pennyworth of Condy’s Fluid crystals. They’re a good antiseptic, aren’t they? And about threepence worth of some carbolic solution, too. Have you any litmus, by any chance—the solid stuff is what I want.”
It happened that the druggist had all these in stock.
“That will be all to-night, sir?” he inquired, as Sir Clinton took the packets and paid for his purchases.
“That will be all for the present,” said the Chief Constable absent-mindedly; and he left the shop after saying good-evening.
He made his way to the police station, where the sergeant-in-charge, recognising him, came forward at once.