Sibella made no answer. With a slight toss of the head she leaned over and threw her cigarette into the grate.
"By the by, Miss Greene"—Vance spoke casually—"there has been considerable mystery about the disappearance of your brother's revolver. It has completely vanished from his desk drawer. I wonder if you have seen it about the house anywhere."
At his mention of the gun Sibella stiffened slightly. Her eyes took on an expression of intentness, and the corners of her mouth lifted into a faintly ironical smile.
"Chet's revolver has gone, has it?" She put the question colorlessly, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. "No . . . I haven't seen it." Then, after a momentary pause: "But it was in Chet's desk last week."
Chester heaved himself forward angrily.
"What were you doing in my desk last week?" he demanded.
"Don't wax apoplectic," the girl said carelessly. "I wasn't looking for love missives. I simply couldn't imagine you in love, Chet. . . ." The idea seemed to amuse her. "I was only looking for that old emerald stick-pin you borrowed and never returned."
"It's at the club," he explained sulkily.
"Is it, really! Well, I didn't find it anyway; but I did see the revolver.—Are you quite sure it's gone?"
"Don't be absurd," the man growled. "I've searched everywhere for it. . . . Including your room," he added vengefully.
