“Which of these did you use last night, Mr. M’Graw, when you shot that fox?” Agnes asked.
“Heh? What fox?”
“Maybe it wasn’t you,” said the Corner House girl. “But somebody shot a fox right up there in front of the Lodge.”
“When was this?” demanded the old man, looking at her curiously.
Neale told him the time. The woodsman shook his head slowly.
“I was buried in my blankets by that time,” he declared. “Are you sure the fox was shot, young feller?”
“I’ve got it hung up to get the frost out so I can skin it,” said Neale quietly.
“Shot, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What sort of a ball killed it?”