Receiving permission, he hurried off to procure his powder-sprayer, and in a few minutes he had treated the pistol with the revealing medium. As he did so, his face showed deepening disappointment.
“Nothing worth troubling about here, sir. Whoever it was handled this pistol last must have been wearing gloves. There's nothing to be seen but a few smears of no use to us at all.”
Sir Clinton seemed in no wise depressed by the news.
“Then just open it up, Inspector, and have a look at the magazine.”
“It's three shots short of being full, sir, counting the cartridge that must be in the barrel now,” Flamborough explained, after he had slid the magazine from the butt.
“Then you've found all the empty cases corresponding to the number of shots fired from this pistol, at any rate. We can leave someone else to hunt for extras when the plan's being made. I don't expect they'll discover any. Now we'll—H'm! What's this?”
He stepped swiftly across the room and lifted something which had rolled under a little book-case standing on four feet. As he picked it up, his companions saw that it was an amber cigarette holder. Flamborough's face betrayed some mortification.
“I could have sworn I looked under there,” he declared.
“So you did, Inspector; but it happened to be close up to one of the feet of the bookcase, and probably it was hidden from you in the position you were when you lay on the floor. It just happened to be in the right line from where I was standing a moment ago. Now let's have a look at it.”
He held it out, handling it by the tip with the greatest precaution to avoid leaving his finger-prints upon the tube. At first sight, it seemed simply a cigarette-holder such as could be bought in any tobacconist's shop; but as he rotated it between his finger and thumb, the other side of the barrel came into view and revealed a fly embedded in the material.