“Good. We’ll make a note of that; and if we get the thing cleared up, then we’ll perhaps be able to confirm that opinion of yours.”
In a few minutes a knock came at the door and Sir Clinton admitted the keeper.
“Prismatics?” he said, taking the glasses from Mold. “They’ll do quite well.”
Adjusting the focus, he subjected the ceiling of the room to a minute scrutiny. At last he handed the glasses to Joan.
“Look up there,” he said, indicating the position.
Joan swept the place with the glasses for a moment.
“I see,” she said. “That’s a bullet-hole in the wood, isn’t it?”
Sir Clinton confirmed her guess.
“That’s evidently where the bullet went after knocking the lamp to pieces. Pull the steps over there, Mold. I want to have a closer look at the thing.”
With some difficulty, owing to his injured ankle, he ascended the steps and inspected the tiny cavity.