Waters produced a day-book, turned over its pages, ran his fingers over the lines, and silently pointed to an entry and some figures. Blick glanced at them.
“You remember selling a Webley-Fosbery automatic pistol to Mr. Harry Markenmore?” he asked, turning to the manager. “I mean—you sold it, personally?”
“I sold it,” assented Waters. “I remember it well enough. He wanted a revolver—I recommended that.”
“Would you know it again?” asked Blick.
Waters pointed to some figures and letters in the entry.
“That’s the number,” he said.
Blick produced the weapon he had picked up from beneath the Airedale terrier’s busy feet.
“That it?” he enquired.
Waters turned the automatic pistol over in his hand, and looked carefully at the figures and letters stamped into the mount.
“That’s it!” he answered. “Oh, yes—but I should have known it again without that.”