It's because it was the day after the hold-up at Miss Blacklog's.
Because when I saw your revolver it reminded me of the shooting the night before."
"Ah," said Colonel Easterbrook, "then that's a great load off my mind."
"Oh, Archie, why?"
"Just because if that revolver had disappeared before the shooting - well, it might possibly have been my revolver that was pinched by that Swiss fellow."
"But how would he have known you had one?"
"These gangs have a most extraordinary communication service.
They get to know everything about a place and who lives there."
"What a lot you do know, Archie."
"Ha.
Yes. Seen a thing or two in my time.
Still as you definitely remember seeing my revolver after the hold-up - well, that settles it.
The revolver that Swiss fellow used can't have been mine, can it?"
"Of course it can't."
"A great relief.
I should have had to go to the police about it. And they ask a lot of awkward questions.
Bound to.
As a matter of fact I never took out a licence for it. Somehow, after a war, one forgets these peacetime regulations.
I looked on it as a war souvenir, not as a firearm."
"Yes, I see. Of course."
"But all the same - where on earth can the damned thing be?"
"Perhaps Mrs. Butt took it.
She's always seemed quite honest, but perhaps she felt nervous after the holdup and thought she'd like to - to have a revolver in the house.
Of course, she'll never admit doing that.
I shan't even ask her.
She might get offended.
And what should we do then?
This is such a big house - I simply couldn't -"
"Quite so," said Colonel Easterbrook. "Better not say anything."
Chapter 13 MORNING ACTIVITIES IN CHIPPING CLEGHORN (CONTINUED)
Miss Marple came out of the Vicarage gate and walked down the little lane that led into the main street.
She walked fairly briskly with the aid of the Rev. Julian Harmon's stout ashplant stick.
She passed the Red Cow and the butcher's and stopped for a brief moment to look into the window of Mr. Elliot's antique shop. This was cunningly situated next door to the Bluebird Tearooms and Cafe so that rich motorists, after stopping for a nice cup of tea and somewhat euphemistically named 'Home Made Cakes' of a bright saffron colour, could be tempted by Mr. Elliot's judiciously planned shop window.
In this antique bow frame, Mr. Elliot catered for all tastes.
Two pieces of Waterford glass reposed on an impeccable wine cooler.
A walnut bureau, made up of various bits and pieces proclaimed itself a Genuine Bargain and on a table, in the window itself, were a nice assortment of cheap doorknockers and quaint pixies, a few chipped bits of Dresden, a couple of sad-looking bead necklaces, a mug with
"A Present from Tunbridge Wells"on it, and some tit-bits of Victorian silver.
Miss Marple gave the window her rapt attention, and Mr. Elliot, an elderly obese spider, peeped out of his web to appraise the possibilities of this new fly.
But just as he decided that the charms of the Present from Tunbridge Wells were about to be too much for the lady who was staying at the Vicarage (for of course Mr. Elliot, like everybody else, knew exactly who she was), Miss Marple saw out of the corner of her eye Miss Dora Bunner entering the Bluebird Cafe, and immediately decided that what she needed to counteract the cold wind was a nice cup of morning coffee.
Four or five ladies were already engaged in sweetening their morning shopping by a pause for refreshment.
Miss Marple, blinking a little in the gloom of the interior of the Bluebird, and hovering artistically, was greeted by the voice of Dora Bunner at her elbow.
"Oh, good morning, Miss Marple.
Do sit down here.
I'm all alone."
"Thank you."
Miss Marple subsided gratefully on to the rather angular little blue-painted arm-chair which the Bluebird affected.
"Such a sharp wind," she complained. "And I can't walk very fast because of my rheumatic leg."
"Oh, I know.
I had sciatica one year - and really, most of the time I was in agony."
The two ladies talked rheumatism, sciatica and neuritis for some moments with avidity.