“I’ve also noticed that. But, striking out Maida’s name, leaves us only Mr. Wheeler.”
“Well, ain’t he the one? Ain’t he the down-trodden, oppressed victim, who, at last, has opportunity, and who is goaded to the point of desperation by the arguments of his enemy?”
“You grow oratorical! But, I admit, you have an argument.”
“’Course I have. Now, say we’ve got to choose between Miss Wheeler and Mr. Wheeler, how do we go about it?”
“How?”
“Why, we find out how Mr. Appleby was sitting, how Mr. Wheeler was facing at the moment, and also Miss Maida’s position. Then, we find out the direction from which the bullet entered the body, and then we can tell who fired the shot.”
“I’ve done all that, Fibs,” Stone returned, with no note of superiority in his voice. “I found out all those things, and the result proves that the bullet entered Mr. Appleby’s body from the direction of Miss Maida, in the bay window, and directly opposite from what would have been its direction if fired by Mr. Wheeler, from where he stood, when seen directly after the shot.”
Fibsy looked dejected. He made no response to this disclosure for a moment, then he said:
“All right, F. Stone. In that case I’m going over to Mr. Keefe’s side, and I’m going to hunt up the bugler.”
“A fictitious person?”