“And when she was suspected, you at once took the gun away and threw it into the East River?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose there was one cartridge missing from the magazine, too—which in itself would have been a suspicious circumstance.”
“I thought of that. That’s why I threw the gun away.”
Vance frowned.
“That’s strange. There must have been two guns. We dredged the river, y’ know, and found a Colt automatic, but the magazine was full. . . . Are you sure, Captain, that it was your gun you took from Miss St. Clair’s and threw over the bridge?”
I knew no gun had been retrieved from the river, and I wondered what he was driving at. Was he, after all, trying to involve the girl? Markham, too, I could see, was in doubt.
Leacock made no answer for several moments. When he spoke, it was with dogged sullenness.
“There weren’t two guns. The one you found was mine. . . . I refilled the magazine myself.”
“Ah, that accounts for it.” Vance’s tone was pleasant and reassuring. “Just one more question, Captain. Why did you come here to-day and confess?”