in contact and inversely proportional to the length of time sincethey have ceased to be in contact." He gave a smiling glance to thepriest. "That doesn't apply strictly to relics of the saints, ReverendSir; there's another factor enters in there, as you know."
As he spoke, the sorcerer was carefully clamping the little handguninto the padded vise so that its barrel was parallel to the surface ofthe table.
"Anyhow," he went on, "this apprentice, all on his own, decided to getrid of the cockroaches in his house--a simple thing, if one knows howto go about it. So he collected dust from various cracks and cranniesabout the house, dust which contained, of course, the droppings of thepests. The dust, with the appropriate spells and ingredients, heboiled. It worked fine. The roaches all came down with a raging feverand died. Unfortunately, the clumsy lad had poor laboratory technique.He allowed three drops of his own perspiration to fall into thesteaming pot over which he was working, and the resulting fever killedhim, too."
By this time, he had put the bullet which Dr. Pateley had removed fromthe Count's body on a small pedestal so that it was exactly in linewith the muzzle of the gun. "There now," he said softly.
Then he repeated the incantation, and the powdering that he had usedon the button. As the last syllable was formed by his lips, the bulletvanished with a _ping_! In its vise, the little gun vibrated.
"Ah!" said Master Sean. "No question there, eh? That's the deathweapon, all right, my lord. Yes. Time's almost exactly the same asthat of the removal of the button. Not more than a few seconds later.Forms a picture, don't it, my lord? His lordship the Count jerks abutton off the girl's gown, she outs with a gun and plugs him."
Lord Darcy's handsome face scowled. "Let's not jump to any hastyconclusions, my good Sean. There is no evidence whatever that he waskilled by a woman."
"Would a man be wearing that gown, my lord?"
"Possibly," said Lord Darcy. "But who says that anyone was wearing itwhen the button was removed?"
"Oh." Master Sean subsided into silence. Using a small ramrod, heforced the bullet out of the chamber of the little pistol.
"Father Bright," said Lord Darcy, "will the Countess be serving teathis afternoon?"
The priest looked suddenly contrite. "Good heavens! None of you haseaten yet! I'll see that something is sent up right away, Lord Darcy.In the confusion--"
Lord Darcy held up a hand. "I beg your pardon, Father; that wasn'twhat I meant. I'm sure Master Sean and Dr. Pateley would appreciate alittle something, but I can wait until tea time. What I was thinkingwas that perhaps the Countess would ask her guests to tea. Does sheknow Laird and Lady Duncan well enough to ask for their sympatheticpresence on such an afternoon as this?"
Father Bright's eyes narrowed a trifle. "I dare say it could bearranged, Lord Darcy. You will be there?"
"Yes--but I may be a trifle late. That will hardly matter at aninformal tea."
The priest glanced at his watch. "Four o'clock?"
"I should think that would do it," said Lord Darcy.
Father Bright nodded wordlessly and left the room.
* * * * *
Dr. Pateley took off his pince-nez and polished the lenses carefullywith a silk handkerchief. "How long will your spell keep the bodyincorrupt, Master Sean?" he asked.
"As long as it's relevant. As soon as the case is solved, or we haveenough data to solve the case--as the case may be, heh heh--he'llstart to go. I'm not a saint, you know; it takes powerful motivationto keep a body incorrupt for years and years."
Sir Pierre was eying the gown that Pateley had put on the table. Thebutton was still in place, as if held there by magnetism. He didn'ttouch it. "Master Sean, I don't know much about magic," he said, "butcan't you find out who was wearing this robe just as easily as youfound out that the button matched?"
Master Sean wagged his head in a firm negative. "No, sir. 'Tisn'trelevant sir. The relevancy of the integrated dress-as-a-whole isquite strong. So is that of the seamstress or tailor who made thegarment, and that of the weaver who made the cloth. But, except incertain circumstances, the person who wears or wore the garment haslittle actual relevancy to the garment itself."
"I'm afraid I don't understand," said Sir Pierre, looking puzzled.
"Look at it like this, sir: That gown wouldn't be what it is if theweaver hadn't made the cloth in that particular way. It wouldn't bewhat it is if the seamstress hadn't cut it in a particular way andsewed it in a specific manner. You follow, sir? Yes. Well, then, theconnections between garment-and-weaver and garment-and-seamstress arestrongly relevant. But this dress would still be pretty much what itis if it had stayed in the closet instead of being worn. Norelevance--or very little. Now, if it were a well-worn garment, thatwould be different--that is, if it had always been worn by the sameperson. Then, you see, sir, the garment-as-a-whole is what it isbecause of the wearing, and the wearer becomes relevant."
He pointed at the little handgun he was still holding in his hand."Now you take your gun, here, sir. The--"
"It isn't my gun," Sir Pierre interrupted firmly.
"I was speaking rhetorically, sir," said Master Sean with infinitepatience. "This gun or any other gun in general, if you see what Imean, sir. It's even harder to place the ownership of a gun. Most ofthe wear on a gun is purely mechanical. It don't matter _who_ pullsthe trigger, you see, the erosion by the gases produced in thechamber, and the wear caused by the bullet passing through the barrelwill be the same. You see, sir, 'tisn't relevant _to the gun_ whopulled its trigger or what it's fired at. The bullet's a slightlydifferent matter. To the bullet, it _is_ relevant which gun it wasfired from and what it hit. All these things simply have to be takeninto account, Sir Pierre."
"I see," said the knight. "Very interesting, Master Sean." Then heturned to Lord Darcy. "Is there anything else, your lordship? There'sa great deal of county business to be attended to."
Lord Darcy waved a hand. "Not at the moment, Sir Pierre. I understandthe pressures of government. Go right ahead."
"Thank you, your lordship. If anything further should be required, Ishall be in my office."
As soon as Sir Pierre had closed the door, Lord Darcy held out hishand toward the sorcerer. "Master Sean; the gun."
Master Sean handed it to him. "Ever see one like it before?" he asked,turning it over in his hands.
"Not _exactly_ like it, my lord."
"Come, come, Sean; don't be so cautious. I am no sorcerer, but I don'tneed to know the Laws of Similarity to be able to recognise an_obvious_ similarity."
"Edinburgh," said Master Sean flatly.
"Exactly. Scottish work. The typical Scot gold work; remarkablebeauty. And look at that lock. It has 'Scots' written all over it--andmore. 'Edinburgh', as you said."
Dr. Pateley, having replaced his carefully polished glasses, leanedover and peered at the weapon in Lord Darcy's hand. "Couldn't it beItalian, my lord? Or Moorish? In Moorish Spain, they do work likethat."
"No Moorish gunsmith would put a hunting scene on the butt," LordDarcy said flatly, "and the Italians wouldn't have put heather andthistles in the field surrounding the huntsman."
"But the _FdM_ engraved on the barrel," said Dr. Pateley, "indicatesthe--"
"Ferrari of Milan," said Lord Darcy. "Exactly. But the barrel is ofmuch newer work than the rest. So are the chambers. This is a fairlyold gun--fifty years old, I'd say. The lock and the butt are still inexcellent condition, indicating that it has been well cared for, butfrequent usage--or a single accident--could ruin the barrel andrequire the owner to get a replacement. It was replaced by Ferrari."
"I see," said Dr. Pateley somewhat humbled.
"If we open the lock ... Master Sean, hand me your small screwdriver.Thank you. If we open the lock, we will find the name of one of thefinest gunsmiths of half a century ago--a man whose name has not yetbeen forgotten--Hamish Graw of Edinburgh. Ah! There! You see?" Theydid.
Having satisfied himself on that point, Lord Darcy closed the lockagain. "Now, men, we have
the gun located. We also know that a guestin this very castle is Laird Duncan of Duncan. The Duncan of Duncanhimself. A Scot's laird who was, fifteen years ago, His Majesty'sMinister Plenipotentiary to the Free Grand Duchy of Milan. Thatsuggests to me that it would be indeed odd if there were not someconnection between Laird Duncan and this gun. Eh?"
* * * * *
"Come, come, Master Sean," said Lord Darcy, rather impatiently.