Langholm found the room to which he had been directed; in fact, he knew
it of old. And there were the two new Beeston Humbers; but their
lustrous plating and immaculate enamel did not shame his own old
disreputable roadster, for the missing machine certainly was not there.
Langholm was turning away when the glazed gun-rack caught his eye. Yes,
this was the room in which the guns were kept. He had often seen them
there. They had never interested him before. Langholm was no shot. Yet
now he peered through the glass--gasped--and opened one of the sliding
panels with trembling hand.
There on a nail hung an old revolver, out of place, rusty, most
conspicuous; and at a glance as like the relic in the Black Museum as
one pea to another. But Langholm took it down to make sure. And the
maker's name upon the barrel was the name that he had noted down at the
Black Museum; the point gained, the last of the cardinal points
postulated by the official who had shown him round.
The fortuitous discoverer of them all was leaving like a thief--more and
more did Langholm feel himself the criminal--when the inner door opened
and Steel himself stood beaming sardonically upon him.
Pages:
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329