"What makes you so certain that this was the revolver?" he inquired,
more to satisfy his conscience by leaving no question unasked than to
voice any doubt upon the point.
The other smiled as he explained the peculiarity of the pistol; it had
been made in Melbourne, and it carried the bullet of peculiar size which
had been extracted from Alexander Minchin's body.
"But London is full of old Australians," objected Langholm, for
objection's sake.
"Well, sir," laughed the officer, "you find one who carries a revolver
like this, and prove that he was in Chelsea on the night of the murder,
with a motive for committing it, and we shall be glad of his name and
address. Only don't forget the motive; it wasn't robbery, you know,
though her ladyship was so sure it was robbers! There's the maker's name
on the barrel. I should take a note of it, sir, if I was you!"
That name and that note were all that Langholm had to show when he dined
with the criminologist at his service club the same evening. The
amateur detective looked a beaten man already, but he talked through
his teeth of inspecting the revolvers in every pawnbroker's shop in
London.
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