n. It ought to be
easy to trace the owner of _that_, in desolate parts like this. Well,
here goes!"

A moment's careful prodding with the point of the knife, and the thing
was done. The bullet--an infinitesimal thing--fell out into the palm of
his hand. Then, of a sudden, he swung around in his tracks toward them.
His face was grim.

"Look here," he said, in the sharp staccato of excitement, "what I want
to know is, who of this company possesses an air-gun? For that someone
does I am certain. That shot must have been fired at close range--by the
depth to which it was embedded in this wood. Mr. Duggan, do you happen
to own an air-pistol?"

The last remnant of colour drained itself out of Ross Duggan's already
pale cheeks. His eyes narrowed down to pin-points in the frame of his
face. Then his chin went up.

"I do, Mr. Deland."

"H'm. I thought as much. And if you were standing there, opposite your
father, and with no one at the right side of you, and only the space of
the bow-window between you and the outside world--taking into
consideration the enormous amount of misguided reason which you might
have to commit such a terrible crime--as I said before, if you moved
quickly over there, side stepping, so that the shot might miss any of
the ladies opposite after passing through Sir Andrew's brain, and--if
the lights failed at a given and arranged moment, and you whipped out
your revolver and fired, it _might_ bring about just this identical
result."

"I ... my God! man, you're not accusing me of murdering my own father,
are you? You're daft--insane--idiotic!"

Cleek held up a silencing hand.

"I'm not accusing anybody, Mr. Duggan; simply reconstructing matters for
the purpose of finding out the true assassins. And, as I told you last
night, every one, according to English law, may be considered guilty
until he be proved innocent. Suspicions seem to point heavily to you, I
must say. But we've got to have more facts, of course.

"He didn't do it, Mr. Deland! Of course he didn't do it!"

Cynthia shrilled out these words suddenly, rushing toward Cleek and
fastening her hands about his arm. "You're mad to suggest such a thing,
to even think it! My Ross wouldn't stoop to _murder_ for a beastly
inheritance! You don't know him as I do--as all these others do. It's
incredible."

"Quite true, Miss Debenham. But let's ask Mr. Narkom what he thinks of
it. He's kept his peace during this session, proving himself, no doubt