“Well, it’s like this—all the way through the case—the tendency has been for all of you to take the view that somebody in the house was implicated—everything seems to me to point in that direction! Well”—he stopped for a moment at a loss for words. Anthony said nothing, but waited interestedly for him to continue. Bathurst’s attention, and silent attention at that, gave Peter encouragement. “Well—if that’s so—what made Stewart fire his revolver—as you suggest he did?—it seems to me he would hardly fire a shot at somebody whom he knew—somebody with whom he was familiar!”
Anthony considered his statement very carefully. “Supposing he suddenly found that particular somebody acting dishonestly or treacherously towards him—mightn’t he fire then—what do you think?”
“I don’t think he would even then,” contended Peter, “unless they attacked him, of course!”
“H’m,” muttered Anthony, “I’m inclined to appreciate your point, Daventry—you’ve given me something to think over.”
He paced up and down the room turning over this new aspect of the case that had just been presented to him. Suddenly he turned quickly. “We’ll look into that point a bit later on, Daventry—in the meantime, I want you to accompany me—I’m going to look for something else—come along.” He opened the French doors and stepped out—Peter immediately following him. A moment’s walk brought them to the rockery garden. The fountain, continually throwing up its sparkling cascade, to fall in widening ripples into the water of the pool that surrounded it, brought a delicious touch of coolness to the warmth of the June afternoon. The rock garden had been built all around it—the pieces of crazy paving, with the green blades of grass peeping inquisitively between them—lying around it on all sides and in all shapes and sizes. Bathurst’s eyes took it all in quickly and alertly. The larger pieces formed the floor of the rockery, the smaller pieces having doubtless been selected for building and banking up the sides. Anthony scrambled to the top and stood there for a second or two—astraddle almost—one foot poised on the top—the other on a pointed stone a trifle lower down. He called to Peter Daventry. “Come up here a minute, Daventry—will you?” Peter scrambled up behind him. Anthony pointed to the spaces between the pieces of stone and rock. “Look in there,” he said. Peter looked! “See those little brown stones? Seen anything like them before?”
“Of course—from Stewart’s table—in the coal-scuttle.”
They stepped down. “That’s right, Daventry—that’s where you saw them—and I’ve one in my pocket as well—that I took from the ink-bowl.” He started to walk round the rockery—his eyes searching everywhere—keenly alert but apparently anxious as well. “I can do with half a dozen of these pieces of paving,” he called over his shoulder to Peter. “Half a dozen of the smaller pieces—the size that I could pick up pretty comfortably—get them for me, will you—you’ll probably find the kind I want round the top of the garden.” Peter made his second undignified scramble to the summit of the rockery. He quickly collected a few and tossed them one by one down to Anthony below. He watched the latter pick them up and in turn examine them with the greatest care. Peter noticed that he paid particular attention to the underneath part of each piece that he looked at. Then he shook his head doubtfully as though dissatisfied with the turn that events were taking. Picking the rocky pieces up again, he subjected them to a further examination. “You command the back of the house from where you’re standing, Daventry——or at any rate part of it—is there anybody about?”
Peter looked across—and then back over the stretch of grass that ran to the doors of the library, and saw no one. “Not a soul,” he called with cheerful assurance.
“Good man,” said Anthony, “I’m rather keen that we shouldn’t be observed at this particular moment.” Then an idea seemed to strike him suddenly. With his eyes on the path of the rock garden he began to walk around—keeping the fountain in the center. He had almost completed the entire circle when he came to an abrupt stop. “Quick, Daventry—come down here.” Peter picked his way down. “Look at the side of this path—the side nearest the pool—does anything suggest itself to you?”
Peter adjusted his thinking-cap. He gazed carefully at the side that Anthony indicated—there was a slight declivity where the path made its natural shelving towards the pool. The meaning of what he saw was instantaneously obvious to the most elementary powers of observation. There was the impression of a stone—but there was no stone near anything like the shape delineated in the soft soil. Anthony rubbed his hands. Peter knew the gesture to signify pleasure and success.