"Yes," said Jimmy.

"What did you do with it?" asked the policeman.

"I put it in my desk within five minutes after he gave it to me, and I
haven't seen it since."

"You say you couldn't identify the pistol?" said the officer.

Jimmy nodded.

"Well, we can, and have. The number of this pistol was recorded when
Mr. Compton bought it, as was the number of the other one which is still
in his desk. They were the only two pistols he ever bought, according to
Mr. Bince, and his daughter, aside from one which he had at home, which
has also been accounted for. The drawer in which Mr. Bince saw you place
this pistol we found open and the pistol gone. It looks pretty bad for
you, young fellow, and if you want a chance to dodge the rope you'd
better plead guilty and tell us why you did it."

Jimmy was given little opportunity for sleep that night. A half-dozen
times he was called back to the lieutenant's office for further
questioning. He commenced to realize that the circumstantial evidence
was strongly against him, and now, as the girl had warned him, his
entirely innocent past was brought up against him simply because his
existence had been called to the attention of a policeman, and the same
policeman an inscrutable Fate had ordained should discover him alone
with a murdered man.