Major Benson was cordially dignified. He gave Markham a swift glance; but if he suspected anything, he showed no outward sign of it.
“Major, I want you to answer a few questions—if you care to.” Markham’s voice, though low, had in it a resonant quality.
“Anything at all,” returned the other easily.
“You own an army pistol, do you not?”
“Yes—a Colt automatic,” he replied, with a questioning lift of the eyebrows.
“When did you last clean and refill it?”
Not a muscle of the Major’s face moved.
“I don’t exactly remember,” he said. “I’ve cleaned it several times. But it hasn’t been refilled since I returned from overseas.”
“Have you lent it to anyone recently?”
“Not that I recall.”