He and his companion had crossed Deep Lane by that time, and were now traversing the park in the direction of Markenmore Court. And there, a little way before them, they saw Harry Markenmore, superintending the labours of three or four men who were engaged in felling a giant elm tree. He caught sight of them at the same moment, and presently came strolling in their direction, his eyes looking a question as they met.
“Good morning, Mr. Markenmore,” began the Chief Constable. “We were just going to the house to see you. The fact is,” he continued, unconsciously lowering his voice in spite of the fact that he and his two companions stood in a solitude, “a very unpleasant situation has arisen in respect of the death of your brother. Now, Mr. Markenmore, you can help us to clear it up, one way or another, if you’ll give us some information: the whole thing may be capable of very easy explanation—anyway, I’m sure you’ll help us if you can.”
“In what way?” asked Harry. He stood, hands in pockets, glancing first at one, then at the other; in Blick’s opinion he seemed to be ill at ease. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, first of all,” replied the Chief Constable quietly, “we better tell you what we do know. Now don’t be alarmed or upset, Mr. Markenmore, by what I have to say——”
A queer expression suddenly played about Harry Markenmore’s lips, and he gave Blick an equally queer glance.
“Why should I be either alarmed or upset?” he asked. “Scarcely likely!”
“Just so, Mr. Markemnore, just so!” agreed the Chief Constable. “It isn’t at all likely, but you know what I mean. Well, now, in the course of his enquiries Detective-Sergeant Blick has found that some little time ago you purchased a Webley-Fosbery automatic pistol at Widdington’s, the gunsmith, in Selcaster. That’s so, Mr. Markenmore?”
“That is so, certainly,” replied Harry. “No secret about it, either.”
“I felt sure there wouldn’t be,” said the Chief Constable. “Very well—would you recognize that pistol if you were shown it?”
“By its mark and number—yes!” answered Harry.