“And what do you make out of things, Inspector?” he demanded, turning to Flamborough.
“Well, sir, with these small-calibre pistols, it's difficult to give more than a guess. So far as I can see, it looks as if the pistol had been quite close-up when it was fired. I think I can see something that looks like scorching or discoloration on his dress shirt round about the wound, though the blood makes it hard to be sure. That's really as far as I'd like to go until I've had a better chance of examining the thing.”
Sir Clinton turned back to the doctor.
“I suppose a wound in the lung may produce death at almost any length of time after the shot's actually fired. I mean that a man may live for quite a long while even with a wound like this and might be able to move about to some extent after being shot?”
Dr. Ringwood had no hesitation in agreeing with this.
“He might have lived for an hour or two—even for days. Or else, of course, he might have collapsed almost at once. You never can tell what will happen in lung wounds.”
Sir Clinton seemed to give this a certain consideration. Then he moved towards the door.
“We'll take up the blood-trail now. You'd better switch off the light and lock the door, Inspector. We don't want anyone blundering in here and getting a fright by any mischance.”
They went out into the hall, where Sir Clinton drew the attention of the Inspector to the traces of blood which he had noticed on the carpet.
“Now we'd better have a look at that car outside,” he suggested.