“What could it have been?” Anne looked questioningly at Shine, who, having no other suggestion to offer, shrugged and shook his head.
The door of Mrs. Cornell’s room opened on the gallery and Miss Pinkney emerged, Mrs. Cornell behind her.
“Mr. Bassett,” she cried, a hand on the railing. “Where’s Mr. Bassett?”
Bassett drew out from under the gallery and looked up at her:
“Did you hear that?”
“I did and I told you that Mr. Driscoll never allowed any shooting on the premises.”
“Do you think that was a shot?”
“Well, what else was it?”
Mrs. Cornell, leaning comfortably on the railing, suggested that it might be an auto tire.
This drew a snort from Miss Pinkney: