He gave me one look, and then drew a figure with the end of his golf stick—a figure upon the grass in the shape of a cross.
“Like that?” he asked.
I nodded, and as he said nothing, added I had told Carter it seemed impossible for a man to fall in such a position. For a moment I saw his face become very thoughtful, and then he said:
“You are right about that, Pelt. He was struck by a dagger—struck suddenly through the heart. When he fell from his chair to the floor, the odds were a thousand to one against his falling in that position.”
Across the green a squirrel dashed down a tree, ran across the grass and scampered up another tree. Bartley watched it with a very peculiar expression on his face. Then he turned to me:
“As I understand it, Pelt, the Chinaman was at the library just before six o'clock. He says the door was open, and that he found Warren dead. Let us believe the story. The housekeeper was at the library sometime between six and seven. She found the door locked; what is more, she claimed she thought she heard some one in the building. That may not be so; her fear and nervousness might have suggested it.”
All at once I remembered the gardener had testified at the inquest that as he came from his work after six he saw a boat just rounding the point. I mentioned this, reminding him that the point was below the library. He thought this over for a while, then asked what time it was the boy who had been picking berries had seen the figure on the wall.
“Just before six,” I said. “He told me the whistle in the town blew a moment after the man dropped on the ground. He went down the other side of the wall.”
“He meant that the man went along the wall outside of the Warren grounds?”
I nodded. Very slowly he took a cigar and lighted it, blowing the first ring carefully. Then he said thoughtfully: