“Well—it was some time after he became engaged, with my consent, to my daughter. He used, of course, to come up to Woodland Cottage and see us, in the evenings. And he often said what a lonely situation it was for two women—for Braxfield rarely came then. And one day he brought that pistol, and showed us both how to use it. And when those foxes began raiding my fowls, I thought of the pistol and used it to scare them. I never hit one, that I know of.”
“Where is the pistol?” demanded the Chief Constable.
“Well,” replied Mrs. Braxfield, with obvious reluctance, “I’ve been a fool about that! After I heard of Guy Markenmore’s murder, I got nervous—frightened. I thought there might be a search made—you never know—and it would look queer for me to have a pistol, and so—well, I threw it away.”
“Where?”
“Down a deep hole behind the bushes in the lane near my house,” said Mrs. Braxfield.
“One more question,” said the Chief Constable. “Did you see Guy Markenmore at all, anywhere, last Tuesday morning, and did you fire that pistol that morning?”
“No!” declared Mrs. Braxfield. “I never saw Guy Markenmore—have never seen him for seven years—and I never fired the pistol that morning—I hadn’t it with me.”
The Chief Constable took Blick aside and for some minutes they talked together in low tones. At last the Chief Constable turned round.
“Well, Mrs. Braxfield,” he said, “I won’t detain you any longer. You’ve only yourself to thank for your being brought here. You can go, now.”
Mrs. Braxfield got up from her chair with dignity.