Sir Clinton turned the car and took the road leading down to Neptune's Seat.
“What do you make of it, Mr. Cargill?” he inquired, after a moment or two.
“I haven't thought much about it,” Cargill answered. “It seems straightforward enough. Somebody must have been behind the groyne and fired a shot. It's within easy shooting distance of the rock where the body was found.”
Wendover opened his mouth as if to say something. Then, thinking better of it, he refrained.
When they reached the shore, the tide was sufficiently far out to allow Cargill to show them the spot at which he had picked up the cartridge-case. Wendover still had a mental map in his head, and he recognised that the shot must have been fired by the man behind the groyne at the time when he was nearest to Neptune's Seat. If Stanley Fleetwood was even a moderate shot with an automatic, he could hardly have missed Staveley's figure at the distance.
Sir Clinton seemed to become more keenly interested when they reached the shore. His detached manner thawed markedly, and he thanked Cargill again for having brought the evidence to light.
“Oh, it was only an accident,” the Australian protested. “I wasn't looking for anything. It just chanced to catch my eye. Does it throw any light on things?”
Sir Clinton obviously resented the question.
“Everything helps,” he said sententiously.
Cargill saw that he had been indiscreet.