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“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” suggested Hannah mildly.
The reverend calmed down and sat.
“It all happened last Friday,” he said. He told the story of the delegation from the Committee for Concerned Citizens and their rebuff by the Governor. When he had finished, Hannah frowned.
“What exactly did Reverend Drake say?” he asked.
“He said,” repeated Quince, “ ‘We have to get rid of that Governor and get ourselves a new one.’ ”
Hannah rose. “Thank you very much, Mr. Quince. May I suggest you say no more about this, but leave it with me?”
After the grateful vicar scuttled out, Hannah thought it over. He did not particularly like stool pigeons, but he would now have to check out the fire-breathing Baptist, Walter Drake, as well.
At that point Jefferson appeared with a tray of cold lobster tails in mayonnaise. Hannah sighed. There were some compensations to being sent four thousand miles from home. And if the Foreign Office was paying ... He poured himself a glass of chilled Chablis and started.
During Hannah’s lunch, Chief Inspector Jones came back from the airport. “No one has left the island,” he told Hannah, “not in the last forty hours.”
“Not legally, at any rate,” said Hannah. “Now, another chore, Mr. Jones. Do you keep a firearms register?”
“Of course.”
“Fine. Would you check it through for me and visit everyone who has a listed firearm on the islands? We are looking for a large-caliber handgun. Particularly a handgun that cannot be produced, or one that has been recently cleaned and gleams with fresh oil.”
“Fresh oil?”
“After being fired,” said Hannah.
“Ah, yes, of course.”
“One last thing, Chief Inspector. Does Reverend Drake have a registered firearm?”
“No. Of that I am certain.”
When he had gone Hannah asked to see Lieutenant Haverstock. “Do you by any chance own a service revolver or automatic?” he asked.
“Oh, I say, look here. You don’t really think ...” expostulated the young subaltern.
“It occurred to me it might have been stolen, or misappropriated and replaced.”
“Ah, yes. See your point, old boy. Actually, no. No gun. Never brought one to the island. Got a ceremonial sword, though.”
“If Sir Marston had been stabbed, I might think of arresting you,” Hannah said mildly. “Any guns in Government House at all?”
“No, not to my knowledge. Anyway, the killer came from outside, surely? Through the garden wall?”
Hannah had examined the wrenched-off lock on the steel gate in the garden wall at first light. From the angles of the two broken hasps and the torn-apart bar of the great padlock, there was a little question that someone had used a long and very strong crowbar to force the old steel to snap like that. But it also occurred to Hannah that the snapping of the lock might have been a ruse. It could have been done hours or even a couple of days earlier. No one had ever tested the gate; it was deemed to be rusted solid.
The killer could have torn off the lock and left the gate in the closed position in advance, then come through the house to kill the Governor and retreat back into the house afterward. What Hannah needed was that second bullet, hopefully intact, and the gun that had fired it. He looked out at the glittering blue sea. If it was down there, he’d never find it.
He rose, wiped his lips, and went out to find Oscar and the Jaguar. It was time he had a word with Reverend Drake.
Sam McCready also sat at lunch. When he entered the open-sided verandah dining room of the Quarter Deck, every table was full. Out on the square, men in bright beach shirts and wraparound dark glasses were positioning a flatbed truck decorated with bunting and daubed with posters from Marcus Johnson. The great man was due to speak at three.
Sam looked around the terrace and saw a single vacant chair. It was at a table that was occupied by one other luncher.
“We’re a bit crowded today. Mind if I join you?” he asked.
Eddie Favaro waved at the chair. “No problem.”
