Fountain soon came downstairs. He was surprised to see Amberley and asked quickly what had happened.
The sergeant told him. Fountain said blankly: "Shot? Collins?" His gaze shifted from the sergeant to Amberley.
"I don't understand. Who could have shot him? Where was he?"
"It might," said the sergeant judicially, "have been poachers. Or it might not. That'll be investigated. Meanwhile, sir, if you've no objection I should like to use your telephone."
"Yes, of course. I'll show you." Fountain led him out into the hall and left him talking to the constable on duty at the police station. He went back into the library and stared in a bewildered way at Amberley. "I can't make it out!" he said. "It seems fantastic! First my butler, now my valet. Amberley, I don't like it!"
"No. I don't suppose Dawson or Collins liked it either," said Amberley.
Fountain began to walk about the room. "Who found him? Where was he?"
When he heard that Collins had been shot not a mile from the manor he gave a gasp. "Good God! Do you think it was poachers, then?"
Mr. Amberley declined to give an opinion.
A fresh aspect of the case seemed to strike Fountain.