In one of the tulip beds back of the house an early blackbird was
pecking viciously at something that glittered in the light. I picked my
way gingerly over through the dew and stooped down: almost buried in
the soft ground was a revolver! I scraped the earth off it with the
tip of my shoe, and, picking it up, slipped it into my pocket. Not
until I had got into my bedroom and double-locked the door did I
venture to take it out and examine it. One look was all I needed. It
was Halsey's revolver. I had unpacked it the day before and put it on
his shaving-stand, and there could be no mistake. His name was on a
small silver plate on the handle.
I seemed to see a network closing around my boy, innocent as I knew he
was. The revolver--I am afraid of them, but anxiety gave me courage to
look through the barrel--the revolver had still two bullets in it. I
could only breathe a prayer of thankfulness that I had found the
revolver before any sharp-eyed detective had come around.
I decided to keep what clues I had, the cuff-link, the golf-stick and
the revolver, in a secure place until I could see some reason for
displaying them. The cuff-link had been dropped into a little filigree
box on my toilet table. I opened the box and felt around for it. The
box was empty--the cuff-link had disappeared!