“How?” demanded Wendover.
“By winding it up now, counting the clicks of the rachet as we do it; then let it run fully down and wind up again, also counting the clicks. If the two figures tally, then it's run down naturally; if they don't it's been forcibly stopped. But I doubt if we'll need to bother about that. There must be some better evidence than that somewhere, if we can only lay hands on it.”
Wendover's eyes had been ranging over the surface of the rock; and, as Sir Clinton finished his exposition, Wendover drew his attention to a shiny object lying at the other end of Neptune's Seat.
“Just have a look at it, squire, will you? I'm busy here just now. Now, inspector, it seems to me as if some of this watch-glass is missing. There doesn't seem enough to cover the dial. Let's have a look under the body and see if the rest's there.”
Armadale raised the dead man sufficiently to enable Sir Clinton to examine the spot where the watch had struck the rock.
“Yes, here's the rest of the glass,” the chief constable reported. “And there's a faint scrape on the rock surface to show that he must have come down with a bit of a thud. Thanks, inspector, you can let him down again.”
When Armadale had let the body drop back into its original position, Sir Clinton knelt down and unstrapped the wrist-watch, after which he wrapped it carefully in his handkerchief. The fragments of glass he handed to the inspector, who stowed them away in an envelope.
Meanwhile Wendover had made a discovery.
“Come here, Clinton. That yellow thing was the brass case of a discharged cartridge.”
Sir Clinton stepped across the rock and picked up the tiny object, marking its position as he did so by scoring a cross on the stone with his penknife.