“I see what you mean,” said the latter, “there’s a piece of paving missing!”
Anthony looked all round. Then came to a decision. “Daventry,” he said, “I’m going to ask you to do me a favor. Somewhere in that pool lies the missing stone—you know its shape.” He bent down and inspected the impression at the side of the path. “It’s roughly the shape of a magnum of champagne—about fourteen inches in length and at its widest part—the part corresponding to the bottom of the bottle—about half that size.”
“What do you want me to do?” inquired Peter.
Anthony grinned. “I want you to go paddling.”
Peter looked into the water. “Not deep,” he remarked. He pulled off his shoes and socks, hitched up his trousers, and waded in.
“Don’t move round too quickly,” called Anthony. “It won’t be healthy for bare toes when you do find it.”
Peter trudged round treading the mud at the bottom with the utmost respect. Step by step he circled the water-pool—then suddenly Bathurst saw him bend down. When he straightened himself he held a longish piece of stone just as had been described to him. One end resembled the neck of a bottle and it broadened out towards its other end to a width of about seven inches. This end had sharp jagged edges. Anthony took it from Peter’s outstretched hand.
“As I thought, Daventry,” he declared, as Peter made the path again, “a short time ago this piece of stone formed part of the path that we are now standing upon—you know what it is of course?”
Peter replied very promptly. “I’ve a very shrewd idea,” he declared. “I’m just beginning to see daylight—your theory is that that piece of jagged stone——”
“Was used to kill Laurence Stewart,” said Anthony, “and then thrown into that pool—and it’s more than a theory—it’s a fact.”