Flamborough's grin showed that the Chief Constable's shot had gone home without wounding his feelings.
“Very good, sir. ‘Pistol or pistols, not found.’ I'll note that down.”
He went down on hands and knees to examine the carpet.
“Here's something fresh, sir,” he announced. “The carpet's so dark that I didn't notice it before. The pattern concealed it, too. But here it is, all right.”
He drew his fore-finger over the fabric at a spot near the door, and then held it for their inspection, stained with an ominous red.
“A blood-spot, and a fair-sized one, too! There may be more of them about.”
“Yes,” said Sir Clinton mildly. “I noticed some on the hall-carpet as I came in. There's a trail of them from the front door into this room. Perhaps you didn't see them; they're not conspicuous.”
The Inspector looked a trifle crestfallen.
“I know you've a sharp eye, sir. I didn't spot them myself.”
“Suppose we finish up this room before going elsewhere. All the windows are fast, are they?” the Chief Constable asked.