Silence followed Barclay’s statement. Norcross was the first to speak.
“Did you observe anyone standing down the hall behind Patterson?” he asked.
“No, the dense smoke was drifting toward me, and I could not see down the hall,” was Barclay’s answer, and Norcross looked his disappointment.
“Will you kindly tell us, Mr. Barclay,” began Mitchell, “if your bullet did not go into Mr. Patterson, exactly where it did go.” He waited, and then added significantly. “The walls and ceilings in every direction on the second floor have been examined by experts in search of thirty-two caliber bullets which might have been imbedded in them; and while we have found numerous thirty-eight caliber bullets, none have been located in the neighborhood where Mr. Patterson’s body was found. And every bullet that has been found in other parts of the halls and rooms has been a thirty-eight caliber bullet. Where did your revolver bullet go?”
“Out of the hall window,” retorted Barclay. His words caused a sensation. “Come upstairs and I will show you,” he urged.
“Yes, come,” echoed Ethel, and taking Lois’ arm, she led the way to the second floor back hall, Mitchell marching stolidly by Barclay’s side, and the latter had no opportunity to whisper a word of the gratitude overflowing his heart and soul to the girl who, among them all, was the only one to champion his cause.
On reaching the back hall Barclay moved down toward the servants’ staircase. “I stood here,” he said. “Norcross, just crouch down under the light and balance yourself as if you were going to topple forward on your face; yes, that’s about right, now, hold the position—steady”—Barclay raised his right arm, hand closed as if he grasped a revolver butt. “See, the window at the curve of the hall is just in line—the bullet passed directly through it.”
“Without breaking the glass?” asked Mitchell, lifting his eyebrows.
“The window was open,” answered Barclay. “And the current of air coming from there lifted the smoke so that I could see a man’s figure crouching where Norcross is—Thanks,” he added as Norcross rose. “Now, I hope you are satisfied, Mitchell?”
But Mitchell looked unconvinced. “It’s pretty thin,” he grumbled. “You’ve got to produce that bullet from somewhere in this neighborhood before I’ll believe your bullet did not go into Patterson’s body.”