For the first time during the interview, the woman appeared agitated, even frightened.
“Yes, sir, I—think he did,” she admitted, in an unsteady voice.
“Where did he keep it?”
The woman glanced up apprehensively, and rolled her eyes slightly as if weighing the advisability of speaking frankly. Then she replied in a low voice:
“In that hidden drawer there in the center-table. You—you use that little brass button to open it with.”
Heath jumped up, and pressed the button she had indicated. A tiny, shallow drawer shot out; and in it lay a Smith and Wesson thirty-eight revolver with an inlaid pearl handle. He picked it up, broke the carriage, and looked at the head of the cylinder.
“Full,” he announced laconically.
An expression of tremendous relief spread over the woman’s features, and she sighed audibly.
Markham had risen and was looking at the revolver over Heath’s shoulder.
“You’d better take charge of it, Sergeant,” he said; “though I don’t see exactly how it fits in with the case.”