Ask a Policeman. Агата Кристи

Compton from expressing his feelings.

      “You don’t seem to have been particularly successful in your search for the murderer,” he said. “The best thing you can do now is to get back to the Yard as quickly as you can. You can give me fuller details then.”

      He put down the telephone, and returned thoughtfully to the Home Secretary’s room. Sir Philip was still busy with his designs, which by now had almost completely covered his blotting paper. He looked up as the Commissioner came in. “Well, Hampton?” he asked cheerfully. “Any news?”

      The Commissioner was not in the least anxious to repeat the conversation which he had had with his assistant. He felt quite incapable of making it sound convincing in Sir Philip’s highly critical ears. Littleton had made a fool of himself, but there was no point in revealing this fact before an audience. Later, perhaps, he might have a chance of justifying himself privately. “Littleton told me nothing of importance that we do not know already,” he replied evasively.

      “Didn’t he?” said Sir Philip gently. “I confess that I had hoped that he would be able to solve the mystery. It does not often happen that the officer in charge of the Criminal Investigation Department is actually on the spot when a murder is committed. Littleton’s lack of information is disappointing. Most disappointing.”

      Rather an awkward silence fell upon the room. The Commissioner hastened to break it. He turned abruptly to Sir Charles. “What is the make and number of your car?” he asked.

      “It’s a comparatively new Armstrong saloon, and the number is QX7623,” replied Sir Charles without hesitation.

      The Commissioner nodded. So that point was explained. The chauffeur had probably memorized the number wrongly. QZ instead of QX. An easy enough mistake to make. QX was one of the London letters. But he was still anxious to divert attention from Littleton’s exploits. The pistol, lying on Sir Philip’s desk, caught his eye, and he picked it up.

      “You say that Lord Comstock kept this on his desk, Mr. Mills,” he said. Do you know why he did so? Had he any fear that he might be attacked?”

      Mills smiled rather contemptously. “Lord Comstock frequently expressed himself as being afraid of nobody,” he replied. “In any case, he would not have relied upon firearms to protect himself. One of his crime experts gave him that pistol, I believe. It was to form the basis of one of his criticisms of the methods of the police, or so I understand.”

      Hitherto, the pistol had been hidden from Churchill, seated at some distance from the desk. But as soon as the Commissioner picked it up, he could see it plainly. It was a small, vicious-looking weapon, not more than three inches over all. Churchill stared at it in amazement as Mills was speaking. Then he could no longer control himself. “Well, I’m blest if that isn’t another of them!” he exclaimed in what he may have believed to be a whisper.

      But it seemed that Sir Philip had remarkably good ears. He looked up at once, and took in the situation at a glance. Churchill’s remark had, for some reason, scandalized both the Commissioner and Shawford. They were frowning ominously, and the wretched superintendent looked as if he wished the floor to open and swallow him up. Another departmental secret, of course, thought Sir Philip.

      “I think, Hampton, that we have heard all that the witnesses can tell us for the present,” he said. “If you have no objection, we will talk this matter over together. But, in the absence of Littleton, I think that the Chief Constable and the Superintendent should remain.”

      Mills, Easton, and Farrant could, of course, be thus summarily dismissed; it was not even a compliment that the Commissioner went with them to the next room. The Chief Whip needed different treatment; and the Home Secretary was at pains to show his personal indebtedness for Sir Charles’ visit before he handed him over to the experienced ministrations of Mr. Anderson.

      The Commissioner, Shawford, and Churchill had time to await Sir Philip’s return in silent apprehension, but not to concert any measures of mutual support. Sir Philip resumed his place and his pencil, and immediately destroyed Churchill’s faint hope that his unfortunate remark has gone unnoticed.

      “Now, Superintendent!” he said sharply. “Perhaps you will tell us where you have seen a pistol like this before?”

      Churchill gulped, and ran his finger round between his collar and his neck. “I’m not sure about it, sir,” he began desperately. “When Sir Henry Hampton held it up just now, I thought—”

      “Let me have that pistol a moment, will you, Hampton?” said Sir Phillip. “Thank you. Bring your chair close up to the desk, Superintendent. I should not like you to be mistaken. Examine the pistol closely. Now, have you ever seen one like it before or not?”

      Churchill knew from the tone of the Home Secretary’s voice that he was not to be trifled with. He picked up the pistol gingerly, and laid it down again. “Yes, sir, I have seen one exactly like it,” he replied. “I don’t think that there are many in this country. The race-gangs are beginning to use them, sir. You can’t see a pistol that size when it’s held in the palm of the hand, and yet it’s a deadly little weapon at its own short range, and quiet too—sounds most like a toy pistol. A week or two ago the Sussex police got hold of a chap at Lewes races, and he had one of these on him. That’s how I came to see it, sir.”

      “Where did you see it, Superintendent?”

      “It was sent up to the Yard, sir, and Mr. Littleton called some of us into his room to show it to us.”

      “Oh, Mr. Littleton showed it to you, did he? When was this?”

      “Yesterday morning, sir. Chief Constable Shawford was there at the time, sir.”

      “Did Littleton show you this interesting specimen, Hampton?” asked Sir Philip.

      “No, he didn’t,” replied the Commissioner brusquely. “He did mention to me, however, that he had been sent a pistol captured at Lewes races.”

      “What did Mr. Littleton do with the pistol after he had shown it to you, Superintendent?”

      “As far as I remember, sir, he put it down on his desk.”

      “He put it down on his desk. Nasty thing to have lying about, especially as it might have been loaded. Was it loaded, do you know?”

      “It was when I first saw it, sir. But Mr. Littleton unloaded it while I was in the room, sir.”

      “A wise precaution. Now, Chief Constable, you told us that you were in Mr. Littleton’s room this morning discussing the Little Cadbury case, if I remember rightly. Did you see this pistol that the Superintendent talks about then?”

      Shawford cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. It was lying on Mr. Littleton’s desk.”

      Sir Philip looked speculatively at the designs upon his blotting-paper. “I wonder if it is there now?” he said gently. “I think, Hampton, that it would be as well if you rang up the Yard and asked them to look.”

      The Commissioner was about to leave the room, when Shawford spoke again. “I don’t think it will be there now, sir,” he said timidly.

      “Don’t you, Chief Constable? And what makes you think that?”

      “Well, sir, while I was talking to Mr. Littleton this morning, he picked it up and put it in his pocket. He said something about taking it round to a gunsmith for expert opinion, sir.”

      Sir Philip sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “It is extraordinary how difficult it is to elucidate the truth,” he said wearily. “I might surely have been told this fact without the necessity for cross-examination. I begin to feel that Comstock’s attack on the police was not without some justification. I shall expect you, Hampton, to take some action in regard to this want of frankness.”

      Fortunately for the Commissioner, his reply was interrupted by the buzzing of the house telephone. Sir Philip picked up the instrument and listened. “Yes, certainly, Anderson,” he said. “A special edition, you say? Oh, I know how they got