“Did any one else call at the house this morning, Pyne?” he asked presently.
“No one, sir.”
“And you can suggest no explanation for what happened here?”
The man shook his head heavily, his watery eyes in space.
“No, sir. Mr. Robin seemed a pleasant, well-liked young man. He wasn’t the kind to inspire murder—if you understand what I mean.”
Vance looked up.
“I can’t say that I, personally, understand exactly what you mean, Pyne. How do you know it wasn’t an accident?”
“I don’t, sir,” was the unperturbed answer. “But I know a bit about archery—if you’ll pardon my saying so—and I saw right away that Mr. Robin had been killed by a hunting arrow.”
“You’re very observin’, Pyne,” nodded Vance. “And quite correct.”
It was plain that no direct information was to be got from the butler, and Markham dismissed him abruptly, at the same time ordering Heath to send in the cook.