"She is right," said Brierly. "My brother brought a pair of duelling pistols from Paris. They were elaborately finished. He gave me one of them." He looked anxiously toward the crushed and displaced pillows. "Shall we not look," he asked, "and find out if anything is there? Will you look, Mr. Ferrars? Or did you?"
Ferrars moved forward. "No, I did not look," he said. "But the weapon is not there; I could almost swear to it. Come—see, all of you."
With a quick light hand he removed the pillows, turned back the sheets and lifted the bolster. There was nothing beneath it, save the impression where the weapon had laid upon the mattress.
The detective turned toward Mrs. Fry. "You are sure it was here usually?" he questioned.
"I have lifted that bolster carefully every day, and have always seen it," she declared. "When I wanted to turn the mattress he always took away the pistol himself."
Ferrars turned away from the bed, and Brierly resumed his rôle of questioner.
"What else do you miss or find disturbed, Mrs. Fry?"
She went back to the outer room after a last slow glance about the chamber.
"There is the lamp, of course," she began. "That was taken from the shelf to give them light. Then the writing-desk has been opened, as you see, and the things on that table have been disturbed, the books shoved about, and the papers moved. I think," going slowly toward the article, "that even the waste basket and the paper holder have been rummaged."
"And do you miss anything here?"