“And no air-gun was found afterwards.”
“He may have chucked it on to the top of one of the hedges. Your constables couldn’t have spotted it there without ladders.”
“That’s quite true,” said Sir Clinton. “Well?”
Wendover seemed to have a flash of illumination. His face lit up.
“Now I see what you meant by your map-analogy! Of course, the snag is that on the face of it young Torrance had no motive. But suppose he was Hackleton’s tool? Suppose he was in the pay of Hackleton to do this job for him? Then it would all fit in. But it’ll be the devil of a business to prove it, if it is true.”
Glancing across at his friend he detected a peculiar expression on Sir Clinton’s face. It was only a fleeting one, for almost immediately the Chief Constable resumed his normal mask.
“Go on,” he said again.
Wendover had to confess that he had reached the end of his list.
“There’s nobody else that I can think of. Sylvia Hawkhurst was paying a visit to some people in the afternoon and didn’t get home till it was all over. Ernest Shandon was off the premises, too, probably sitting by the roadside and cursing the nail in his boot at the very time his brothers were being murdered. And then there’s Stenness. He was up at the house when the affair took place. Miss Forrest found him there when she went to give the alarm.”
“Stenness,” said Sir Clinton reflectively. “Stenness is a very efficient fellow.”