George agreed by a nod of the head.
"It's true that he'd leave no footprints on the path," said Battle, "but from the shape of the dent and the way the turf was cut, I don't think the pistol was thrown from that direction. I think it was thrown from the terrace here."
"Very likely," said Sir Oswald. "Does it matter, Superintendent?"
"Ah, yes, Battle," broke in George. "Is it—er—strictly relevant?"
"Perhaps not, Mr. Lomax. But we like to get things just so, you know. I wonder now if one of you gentlemen would take this pistol and throw it. Will you, Sir Oswald? That's very kind. Stand just here in the window. Now fling it into the middle of the lawn."
Sir Oswald complied, sending the pistol flying through the air with a powerful sweep of his arm. Jimmy Thesiger drew near with breathless interest. The Superintendent lumbered off after it like a well-trained retriever. He reappeared with a beaming face.
"That's it, sir. Just the same kind of mark. Although, by the way, you sent it a good ten yards farther. But then, you're a very powerfully built man, aren't you, Sir Oswald? Excuse me, I thought I heard someone at the door."
The Superintendent's ears must have been very much sharper than anyone else's. Nobody else had heard a sound, but Battle was proved right, for Lady Coote stood outside, a medicine glass in her hand.
"Your medicine, Oswald," she said, advancing into the room. "You forgot it after breakfast."
"I'm very busy, Maria," said Sir Oswald. "I don't want my medicine."