e local constabulary. Still, he gave
one sharp glance at both sets of footprints. Then he looked at
Furneaux again, this time with a smile.

The party passed on to the rock on the higher ground. Bates pointed
out the old scratches, and those made by Farrow and himself.

"Me first!" cried Furneaux, darting nimbly to the summit. He was not
there a second before he signaled to some one invisible from beneath.
Winter joined him, and the east front of the house burst into view.
Brodie was in the act of descending from the car. The doctor had gone.
A small group of men were gazing at the wood, but Hilton Fenley and
Sylvia Manning were not to be seen.

Neither man uttered a word. They looked at the rock under their feet,
at the surrounding trees, oak and ash, elm and larch, all of mature
growth, and towering thirty to forty feet above their heads, while the
rock itself rose some twelve feet from the general level of the
sloping ground.

Bates was watching them.

"The fact is, gentlemen, that if an oak an' a couple o' spruce first
hadn't been cut down you wouldn't see the house even from where you
are," he said. "Mr. Fenley had an idee of buildin' a shelter on this
rock, but he let it alone 'coss o' the birds. Ladies would be comin'
here, an' a-disturbin' of 'em."

The detectives came down. Furneaux, meaning to put the Inspector in
the right frame of mind, said confidentially--

"Brodie saw me instantly."

"Did he, now? It follows that he would have seen any one who fired at
Mr. Fenley from that spot."

"It almost follows. We must guard against assuming a chance as a
certainty."

"Oh, yes."

"And we must also try to avoid fitting facts into preconceived
notions. Now, while the butler is gathering old boots, let us spend a
few profitable minutes in this locality."

After that, any trace of soreness in the inspectorial breast was
completely obliterated.

Both Winter and Furneaux produced strong magnifying-glasses, and
scrutinized the scratches and impressions on the bare rock and moss.
Bates, skilled in wood lore, was quick to note what they had discerned
at a glance.

"Beg pardon, gentlemen both, but may I put in a word?" he muttered
awkwardly.

"As many as you like," Winter assured him.

"Well, these here marks was made by Farrow an' meself, say about ten
forty, or a trifle over an hour after the murder; an' I have no sort
o' doubt as these other marks are a day or two days older."

"You might even put