"I went up to the spot, got the rifle and took aim. I've always been a pretty good shot——"
"You didn't advertise it to-day," she said sardonically. "Then I suppose somebody hit you on the head?"
He nodded and made a grimace, but any movement of his injured cranium was excessively painful.
"Who was it?" she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Don't ask fool questions," he said petulantly. "I know nothing. I didn't even feel the blow. I just remember taking aim, and then everything went dark."
"And how would you have explained it all, supposing you had succeeded?"
"That was easy," he said. "I should have said that I went in search of the man we had seen, I heard a shot and rushed forward and found nothing but the rifle."
She was silent, pinching her lips absently.
"And you took the risk of some peasant or visitor seeing you—took the risk of bringing the police to the spot and turning what might have easily been a case of accidental death into an obvious case of wilful murder. I think you called yourself a strategist," she asked politely.