“Anything of interest?” asked Lambert.
Maisie sighed. “No, nothing really. Just an old photograph. It might prove to be useful.” She slipped the photograph into her jacket pocket and closed the drawer. She reached down to open the second drawer, but as she pulled it towards her, she heard a rattle. She closed the drawer and opened it again. Once more the rattle sounded.
“That’s a very old desk,” said Lambert, looking at his watch.
“Yes, it is. I just don’t want the drawer to get stuck on anything—it can take ages to put this sort of thing right.” She knelt down and pulled out the drawer partway, turning back to Lambert. “Did you look in here?”
He shook his head. “No, everything I wanted—passport and identification papers—was in that little cubbyhole at the top, so I left the drawers alone. I felt a bit bad touching anything, actually—it’s all personal, isn’t it? I was just keen to get the things I was asked to find, and get out of the flat.”
“Are you scared?” Maisie asked, turning back to the drawer. She squeezed her hand in, turning it so her palm faced the underside of the drawer above.
“It gives me the shivers, Miss Dobbs. This is the house of three dead people—a man, his wife, and their not-yet-born child. To be perfectly honest, the sooner we leave, the better. I only wanted to fulfill my task and then report back to Dr. Thomas.”
Maisie removed her hand, took a clean linen handkerchief from her bag, and reached back into the drawer. “You’re going to have more to report than you expected, Mr. Lambert.” She withdrew her hand again and held up a revolver, her linen handkerchief protecting the integrity of any fingerprints remaining on the grip. “This thing, for a start. It looks like a Browning, but I believe it’s known as a Ruby. I think we should take a taxicab directly to Scotland Yard. Caldwell is not going to like this at all.”
Lambert stepped back, the color draining from his face. “Won’t he be pleased you found it?”
Maisie shook her head. “I doubt it—because either his men missed it when they made their own search, which I concede was probably cursory. Or it was used to kill four people and brought here once the job was done—which means it is as clean as a whistle, because only the most careless criminal would leave his fingerprints all over a murder weapon. And the other scenario is that it was indeed the property of the dead man.”
“Pity he didn’t have it with him on the day he died,” said Lambert.
Maisie looked at Lambert. “Surprisingly, I don’t think he was that kind of man, though if it was his revolver, I would like to know why he had possession of it in the first place.”
Chapter 11
“Miss Dobbs, I just knew it the moment you walked in here the other day, that you would start making my life a misery again.” Caldwell held up the revolver, with Maisie’s linen handkerchief still wrapped around it, and let it swing back and forth. “I’ll send it down to our weapons man and see what he thinks. You were wise to keep it clean, but my guess is that there is not one dab to be found.” He looked up from the gun. “Do we still have yours on file?”
“Let’s do them again—it was a while ago, so we should make sure.”
“And you didn’t see or touch this thing, sonny?” Caldwell looked at Lambert.
Lambert shook his head, his eyes widening. “Absolutely not, Inspector!”
“No, I wouldn’t have thought so.” He sighed. “Right then, we’ve got your statement, Mr. Lambert, so you’re free to go. I hope we haven’t breached any consular agreements keeping you here for a bit.”
“I’m sure it’s all perfectly all right, Inspector.” Lambert came to his feet, turning to Maisie. “I’m glad you came along when you did. Thank you.”
Maisie gave a brief nod. Though no words were spoken, she knew Lambert understood the message in her eyes: she would be in touch with his superior later.
Lambert appeared to shuffle out of the small office, as if he were afraid to allow his lanky frame the freedom of a long stride lest he knock over a chair or a pile of papers. He closed the door behind him, and through the glass Maisie saw Sergeant Able approach to lead him out.
Caldwell shook his head. “They’re like two peas in a pod—all arms and feet and a bit dozy with it. Both still going on fifteen, by the looks of them.”
Maisie made no comment on Caldwell’s observation. “Let’s get my fingerprints done, shall we? And that gun inspected.”
Caldwell and Maisie stood up at the same time.
“You seem quiet, Miss Dobbs.”
“It’s nothing, Inspector. Just thinking.”