CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVENIn the study the Chief Constable was engaged in marking time. He had left a particularly delicate and difficult hand to Miss Silver to play. He did not doubt her ability to get as many tricks out of it as was humanly possible, but he found it hard to keep his mind from straying. He had just finished a series of questions to Major Constable, designed to elicit previous knowledge of Charles Forrest’s revolver and of the place where it was kept. They were answered with a frank nonchalance which appeared to rob them of their importance.
“But of course I knew he had a revolver. He used to yarn about it—belonged to his father—saved the old man’s life—all that sort of thing. Did I know where he kept it? Well, there you have me. Drawer in the bureau, I think, but I wouldn’t li
