“Well, it may be there. We haven’t looked for it yet. Anyhow, we can’t get away from the fact that in all probability Stanworth did fire that other shot. Now why did he fire it?”
“Search me!” said Alec laconically.
“I think we can rule out the idea that he was just taking a pot-shot at the vase out of sheer joie de vivre, or that he was trying to shoot himself and was such a bad shot that he hit something in the exact opposite direction.”
“Yes, I think we might rule those out,” said Alec cautiously.
“Well, then, Stanworth was firing with an object. What at? Obviously some other person. So Stanworth was not alone in the library last night, after all! We’re getting on, aren’t we?”
“A jolly sight too fast,” Alec grumbled. “You don’t even know for anything like certain that the second shot was fired last night at all, and——”
“Oh, yes, I do, friend Alec. The vase was broken last night.”
“Well, in any case, you don’t know that Stanworth fired it. And here you are already inventing somebody else for him to shoot at? It’s too rapid for me.”
“Alec, you are Scotch, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. But what’s that got to do with it?”