"Prior to . . ?" Leacock looked up quickly and paused, as if analyzing the other's remark.
Markham took advantage of his perplexity.
"Have you lent your gun to anyone since you returned from France?"
"No, I've never lent it" he began, but suddenly halted and flushed. Then he added hastily. "How could I lend it? I just told you, sir"
"Never mind that!" Markham cut in. "So you had a gun, did you, Captain? . . . Have you still got it?"
Leacock opened his lips to speak, but closed them again tightly.
Markham relaxed, and leaned back in his chair.
"You were aware, of course, that Benson had been annoying Miss St. Clair with his attentions?"
At the mention of the girl's name the Captain's body became rigid; his face turned a dull red, and he glared menacingly at the District Attorney. At the end of a slow, deep inhalation he spoke through clenched teeth.
"Suppose we leave Miss St. Clair out of this." He looked as though he might spring at Markham.
"Unfortunately, we can't." Markham's words were sympathetic but firm. "Too many facts connect her with the case. Her hand-bag, for instance, was found in Benson's living-room the morning after the murder."
"That's a lie, sir!"
Markham ignored the insult.
"Miss St. Clair herself admits the circumstance." He held up his hand, as the other was about to answer. "Don't misinterpret my mentioning the
