ad, and I can say candidly that he had no enemies. Of
course, in business, one interferes occasionally with other men's
projects, but people in the City do not shoot successful opponents."

"No private feud? No dismissed servant, sent off because of theft or
drunkenness?"

"Absolutely none, to my knowledge. The youngest man on the estate has
been employed here five or six years."

"It is a very extraordinary crime, Mr. Fenley."

For answer, the other sank into a chair and buried his face in his
hands.

"How can we get those clodhoppers out of the wood?" said Furneaux. His
thin, high-pitched voice dispelled the tension, and Fenley dropped his
hands.

"Bates is certain to make for a rock which commands a view of the
house," he said. "Perhaps, if we go to the door, we may see them."

He arose with obvious effort, but walked steadily enough. Winter
followed with the doctor, and inquired in an undertone--

"Are you sure about the soft-nosed bullet, doctor?"

"Quite," was the answer. "I was in the Tirah campaign, and saw
hundreds of such wounds."

Furneaux, too, had something to say to Miss Manning.

"How were you seated during breakfast?" he asked.

She showed him. It was a large room. Two windows looked down the
avenue, and three into the garden, with its background of timber and
park. Mr. Mortimer Fenley could have commanded both views; his son sat
with his back to the park; the girl had faced it.

"I need hardly put it to you, but you saw no one in or near the
trees?" said Furneaux.

"Not a soul. I bathe in a little lake below those cedars every
morning, and it is an estate order that the men do not go in that
direction between eight and nine o'clock. Of course, a keeper might
have passed at nine thirty, but it is most unlikely."

"Did you bathe this morning?"

"Yes, soon after eight."

"Did you see the artist of whom Mr. Fenley spoke?"

"No. This is the first I have heard of any artist. Bates must have
mentioned him while I was with Dr. Stern."

When Farrow arrived at the head of his legion he was just in time to
salute his Inspector, who had cycled from Easton after receiving the
news left by the chauffeur at the police station. Farrow was bursting
with impatience to reveal the discoveries he had made, though resolved
to keep locked in his own breast the secret confided by Bates. He was
thoroughly nonplussed, therefore, when Winter, after listening in
silence to the account of the footprints and