have helped us. As a matter of fact there were none. Then I examined the gun. They were buckshot cartridges, and, as Sergeant Wilson pointed out, the triggers were wired together so that, if you pulled on the hinder one, both barrels were discharged. Whoever fixed that up had made up his mind that he was going to take no chances of missing his man. The sawed gun was not more than two foot long—one could carry it easily under one’s coat. There was no complete maker’s name; but the printed letters p-e-n were on the fluting between the barrels, and the rest of the name had been cut off by the saw.”
“A big P with a flourish above it, e and n smaller?” asked Holmes.
“Exactly.”
“Pennsylvania Small Arm Company—well known American firm,” said Holmes.
White Mason gazed at my friend as the little village practitioner looks at the Harley street specialist who by a word can solve the difficulties that perplex him.
“That is very helpful, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. Wonderful! Wonderful! Do
