"Yes. That is why, if somebody is here, and could hear me, I would say: Tor God's sake don't commit the madness and folly of shooting when you are cornered, or you will certainly hang. There is some excuse for you now, but there will be none if you turn your gun on the police.'"
Dr. Fell was already climbing the stairs. He moved slowly and steadily, his cane rapping sharply on every tread; bump — rap, bump — rap; and a great shadow of him crouched ahead on the wall.
"I do not intend to look for this person," he said over his shoulder. — "You and I, my boy, will go to the study and sit down. Now I am going to turn on the lights in the upstairs hall, here."
A silence. Hugh felt his heart rise in his throat as the switch clicked; the bare, desolate hallway was empty. He thought, however, that he heard a board creak and a door close.
"Tip-tap, tap-tap … Dr. Fell's cane moved along the uncarpeted floor. His boots squeaked loudly.
In desperation Hugh tried to think of something that would help him. The doctor spoke with quiet steadiness. He was trying to draw the murderer out into the light, delicately, with gloved hands, as you might handle a nest of wasps. And the house was listening again. If the murderer were here, he must have heard in desperation each hope of escape taken from under him; and each tap of the cane must have sounded like another nail…
Hugh expected a bullet. He did not believe the sniper would submit without a fight. Nevertheless, he played up to the doctor's lead.
"I suppose you can prove your case?" he asked. "Would it be any good for the murderer to deny guilt?"
"None whatever." Dr. Fell leaned inside the study door. He stood there a moment, looking into darkness, silhouetted against the light if there were anybody inside. Then he pressed the electric switch. The study was as neat as it had been that day, and the body of Depping had been removed. The bright hanging lamp over the desk left most of the room in shadow, but they could see that the chairs still stood as before, and the covered dinner tray on its side-table with the bowl of withered roses.
Dr. Fell glanced round. The door to the balcony, with its chequered red-and-white glass panel, was closed.