“It is.”
“We will try it out, examine the bullet to-night. Now.” Drew reached for the gun.
“Not to-night.” Newton Mills made that old familiar gesture seeming to brush cobwebs from his face. “My eyes are gone for to-night. To-morrow will do.”
Drew started to hang the gun on a nail beside the one that had hung there so long. Newton Mills took it from him and buried it deep in the bottom of a chest. He then locked the chest and hid the key.
“You can never be too careful,” he said quietly. “Things happen when we least expect them.
“By the way!” He changed the subject. “Where did you get that gun?” He pointed to the one hanging close to Johnny’s blood-stained arrow.
Drew sat down and told the story of the gun and the arrow, as it was enacted that dark night on the deserted slip.
Newton Mills drank in his every word.
“It’s strange I never told you about that before,” said Drew.
“It is,” agreed the veteran detective.