"Nothing worth troubling about here, sir. Whoever it was handled this pistol last must have been wearing gloves. There’s nothing to be seen but a few smears of no use to us at all."
Sir Clinton seemed in no wise depressed by the news.
"Then just open it up, Inspector, and have a look at the magazine."
"It’s three shots short of being full, sir, counting the cartridge that must be in the barrel now," Flamborough explained, after he had slid the magazine from the butt.
"Then you’ve found all the empty cases corresponding to the number of shots fired from this pistol, at any rate. We can leave someone else to hunt for extras when the plan’s being made. I don’t expect they’ll discover any. Now we’ll H’m! What’s this?"
He stepped swiftly across the room and lifted something which had rolled under a little book-case standing on four feet. As he picked it up, his companions saw that it was an amber cigarette holder. Flamborough’s face betrayed some mortification.
"I could have sworn I looked under there," he declared.
"So you did, Inspector; but it happened to be close up to one of the feet of the bookcase, and probably it was hidden from you in the position you were when you lay on the floor. It just happened to be in the right line from where I was standing a moment ago. Now let’s have a look at it."
He held it out, handling it by the tip with the greatest precaution to avoid leaving his finger-prints upon the tube. At first sight, it seemed simply a cigarette-holder such as could be bought in any tobacconist’s shop; but as he rotated it between his finger and thumb, the other side of the barrel came into view and revealed a fly embedded in the material.
"One hears a lot about flies in amber," Sir Clinton said, "but this is the first time I’ve seen one."
Dr. Ringwood bent over and examined the imprisoned insect.
"That ought to be easy enough to identify," he commented. "I never saw a fly in amber before; and that one, with its wings half-spread, must be fairly well known to most of the owner’s friends."
"It may have nothing to do with the case, though," Inspector Flamborough put in. "It’s quite on the cards that it was dropped there at the time the house was open for the summer. Some visitor may have lost it, for all one can tell. Or it may belong to either of the Hassendeans."
Sir Clinton twisted the little object into a vertical position and peered into the cavity which had received the cigarettes’ ends.
"It’s not a left-over from summer, Inspector. The tube’s got quite a lot of tarry liquid in it. That would have gone viscid if the thing had been lying there for a couple of months. No, it’s been used quite recently within the last day or two, certainly."
He moved towards the window.
"Just bring that machine of yours, Inspector, and blow some powder over it, please."
Flamborough obeyed; but the application of the powder revealed nothing except a few shapeless blotches on the stem of the holder.
"Nothing!" Ringwood exclaimed, with more than a tinge of disappointment in his tone.
"Nothing," Sir Clinton admitted.
He handed the holder to Flamborough, who stowed it away safely.
"We’ve still to overhaul the body," the Chief Constable suggested. "You’d better do that, Inspector."
"Not much help in these modern dresses," said Flamborough, eyeing the girl’s evening frock with a disparaging glance. "But she ought to have a bag with her, surely. . . . Here it is!"
He plunged his hand between the body and the chair and withdrew a little bag, which he proceeded to open.
"The usual powder-box," he began, enumerating the articles as they came to hand, "Small mirror, silver-mounted, no initials on it. Small comb. Lip-stick’ been used once or twice. No money. No handkerchief."
"You found Mrs. Silverdale’s handkerchief in the car last night," Sir Clinton reminded him.
"Then I suppose this must be her body, right enough, sir. Well, that seems to be all that’s here."
"What about these rings she’s wearing," the Chief Constable suggested. "See if you can get them off. There may be some inscriptions on the inside; some women go in for that kind of thing."
Fortunately the hands of the body were relaxed, and it was possible to remove the circlets from the fingers. Flamborough rose with three rings in his possession, which he examined with care.
"You’re on the mark there, sir, right enough. Here’s her wedding-ring. It’s engraved –˜7.11.23 –that’ll be the date of her marriage, I suppose. Then on each side of the date are initials. –˜Y. S. – that’s for Yvonne Silverdale, obviously; and – F. S. – these’ll be her husband’s initials. Then there’s a diamond ring that she was using for a keeper. Let’s see. It’s got the same pairs of initials on each side of the date –˜4.10.23 – That’ll be her engagement-ring, I expect. H’m! They don’t seem to have given themselves much time for second thoughts if the engagement lasted only a month and three days."
He passed the two rings to Sir Clinton and picked the last one from his palm for examination.
