" roared the other, and it was hard to say whether rage or
astonishment predominated in his voice. "Is that one of Hilton's
dodges to get me into trouble?"

"But you do own an Express rifle, which you keep in your sitting-room.
Where is it now?"

"In the place where it always is. Standing in a corner behind the
bookcase."

"When did you see it last, Mr. Fenley?"

"How the deuce do I know? I give it a run through with an oiled rag
about once a month. It must be nearly a month since I cleaned it."

"It has gone."

"Gone where?"

"I wish I knew."

"But who the devil could have taken it?"

If ever a man was floundering in a morass of wrath and amazement it
was this loud-voiced youngster. He was a slow-witted lout, but the
veriest dullard must have perceived that the disappearance of the
weapon which presumably killed his father was a serious matter for its
owner.

In order to grasp this new phase of the tragedy in its proper bearings
he stood stock still, and gazed blankly into the serious face of the
detective. Furneaux knew he would do that. It was a mannerism. Some
men can not think and move at the same moment, and Robert Fenley was
one.

Naturally, young Fenley did not know that he was leaving a new set of
footprints by the side of the others already attributed to him. Having
done that, he was no longer wanted.

"We'll solve every part of the puzzle in time," said Furneaux slowly,
moistening his thin lips with his tongue as if he were about to taste
another glass of rare old-vintage wine.

"I mentioned the fact of the gun being missing to show you how unwise
you were this morning. You shouldn't have bolted off as you did when
Mr. Winter requested you to remain. I haven't the least doubt, Mr.
Fenley, that you can prove you were in London at the time the murder
was committed, and during some days prior to it, but the police like
these matters to be cleared up; if I may give you a hint, you'll tell
the Superintendent that you regret your behavior, and show you mean
what you say by giving him all the information he asks for. Here he is
now. I hear Mr. Hilton's car, and Mr. Winter is coming with him from
town."

"Mr. Hilton's car? It's no more his car than mine. You mark my words,
there will be trouble in the family if my brother starts bossing
things. He hates me, and would do me an ill turn if he could. Was it
Hilton who spread this story about my gun?"

"No. Rather the reverse. He kept your name stud