Mason slipped the sharp-edged circle of tin into the side pocket of his coat. “It may be just a coincidence,” he agreed. “Rather peculiar, that’s all. How many of you heard the shot?”
“I did,” Mrs. Gentrie said.
Steele said, “I was sleeping soundly, and was wakened by the noise. I suppose it was all over when I woke up, but I tried to reconstruct what had wakened me, and somehow had the impression there were two shots.”
“Did you mention that to Lieutenant Tragg — the head of the Homicide Squad?” Mason asked.
“I don’t think I did,” Steele said. “He seemed quite positive there was only one shot, and I didn’t contradict him. Of course, my impressions were very vague, just trying to recall a noise which has wakened you from a sound sleep. It’s just a vague feeling, anyhow — an echo in the back of the consciousness, if you know what I mean.”
Mason said, “I know exactly what you mean, and you express it very well indeed. It might be a good plan for you to get in touch with Lieutenant Tragg and tell him that, after thinking it over, you believe it’s very possible there were two shots.”
“There weren’t,” Rebecca said positively. “Only one. I was wide awake at the time. I thought it might have been a backfire from an automobile or truck. I know there was only one shot.”
Mason turned to Junior, raised his eyebrows.
Junior shook his head. “I can’t help you at all. I slept right through the whole commotion. I couldn’t have been in bed very long when it happened either, probably not more than fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“What time was the shot?”