"You heard the cry first, and then the shot?"
"Yes. The shot must have killed the poor man at once. He did not cry again."
Harold reflected. "I saw Dr. Lincoln this morning at the Manor," he said slowly. "He deduces from the blackened skin and singed hair that the shot must have been fired at close quarters. Now, if the murderer saw Malet by that lightning flash, and was close at hand, he no doubt sprang forward and clutched the poor devil's arm while he placed the muzzle of the weapon at his temple. In that case Malet would utter a cry and the next moment drop dead. In his agony he might have gripped at the crape scarf, and have torn off the piece I found clenched in his hand."
"That is all purely hypothetical," said Brenda, fighting against her doubts.
"I know it is. But it seems to me the only way to account for your hearing the cry first, and for this piece of crape being in the hand of the corpse. Depend upon it, Brenda, your father can throw some light on the subject. Well, as he's gone to town, there's nothing for it but to wait till he comes back. Meanwhile I won't say anything about the piece of crape to any one."
"And what are you going to do now?" she asked, as he moved toward the study door.
"Return to the inn. I should like to know if any one else saw this stranger, and if they mistook him, as I did, for your father."
"Harold, Harold, do be careful," implored Brenda; "we may be misjudging father altogether, dear. Don't, I beg of you, get him into any trouble."
"On the contrary, dear, my object is to get him out of trouble. If I don't succeed in arriving at some explanation of this queer confusion of identities the police may take it up. Then it would be dangerous. Good-bye, dear; I shall be back shortly."
Brenda waved her hand as he left her, and returned to the study. She was filled with ominous foreboding, and trembled at the thought of possible complicity on the part of her father. His pronounced hatred of Malet, his agitation at the mention of the stranger, the odd idea of the crape scarf worn by the supposed criminal, and the morsel of it in the dead man's hand--these things collectively formed a mystery which Brenda could not fathom.