“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.”
He resumed his seat, and glancing at the notation Vance had given him, turned again to the housekeeper.
“One more question, Mrs. Platz. You said Mr. Benson came home early and spent his time before dinner in this room. Did he have any callers during that time?”
I was watching the woman closely, and it seemed to me that she quickly compressed her lips. At any rate, she sat up a little straighter in her chair before answering.
“There wasn’t no one, as far as I know.”
“But surely you would have known if the bell rang,” insisted Markham. “You would have answered the door, wouldn’t you?”
“There wasn’t no one,” she repeated, with a trace of sullenness.
“And last night: did the door-bell ring at all after you had retired?”
“No, sir.”
“You would have heard it, even if you’d been asleep?”
“Yes, sir. There’s a bell just outside my door, the same as in the kitchen. It rings in both places. Mr. Benson had it fixed that way.”
Markham thanked her and dismissed her. When she had gone, he looked at Vance questioningly.
“What idea did you have in your mind when you handed me those questions?”
“I might have been a bit presumptuous, y’ know,” said Vance; “but when the lady was extolling the deceased’s popularity, I rather felt she was over-doing it a bit. There was an unconscious implication of antithesis in her eulogy, which suggested to me that she herself was not ardently enamored of the gentleman.”
“And what put the notion of fire-arms into your mind?”
“That query,” explained Vance, “was a corollary of your own questions about barred windows and Benson’s fear of burglars. If he was in a funk about house-breakers or enemies, he’d be likely to have weapons at hand—eh, what?”
“Well, anyway, Mr. Vance,” put in Heath, “your curiosity unearthed a nice little revolver that’s probably never been used.”
“By the bye, Sergeant,” returned Vance, ignoring the other’s good-humored sarcasm, “just what do you make of that nice little revolver?”
“Well, now,” Heath replied, with ponderous facetiousness, “I deduct that Mr. Benson kept a pearl-handled Smith and Wesson in a secret drawer of his center-table.”