“Do you recognize this, Mr. Leslie?”
Leslie examined the revolver.
“It belongs to me,” he said simply. “I keep it in the drawer of the dressing-table in my bedroom. I suppose Sergeant Brace found it there.”
“When did you last fire it?”
“About a week ago. I found a poor beast of a cat in a trap in Smith’s field, just across the lane from me. It was past saving, so I went home and fetched this and shot it through the head.”
“You have not used it since then?”
“No. I haven’t had it out of the drawer since.”
“Was any one present when you shot the cat?”
“No. I was alone.”
“Did you speak to anybody afterwards of what you had done?”