"Never! Impossible! My brother was a God-fearing man, a happy man."
"Still, there is a bullet-hole just where self-inflicted wounds are oftenest made."
Brierly groaned aloud. "Still," he persisted, "I will never believe it."
"You need not." Doctor Barnes sank his voice to a yet lower pitch. "Mr. Brierly, there is a second bullet-wound in the back!"
"The back! And that means——"
"It means murder, without a doubt. No huntsman could so mistake his mark in this open woodland, along the lake. Besides, hunting is not allowed so near the village. Wait," as the young man was about to speak, "we have no time to discuss motives now, or the possible assassin. What I wish to know is, do you want this fact known now—at once?"
"I—I fear I don't understand. Would you have my brother's name——"
"Stop, man! Knowing that these men have already jumped at a theory, the thought occurred to me that the work of the officers might be made easier if we let the theory of accident stand."
He broke off, looking keenly at the other. He was a good judge of faces, and in that of Robert Brierly he had not been deceived.