“Do you mean, Harley,” I began, “that you really think——”
“My dear Knox,” he interrupted, “forgetting, if you like, all that preceded the tragedy, with what facts are we left? That Colonel Menendez, at the moment when the bullet entered his brain, must have been standing facing directly toward the Guest House. Now, you have seen the direction of the wound?”
“He was shot squarely between the eyes. A piece of wonderful marksmanship.”
“Quite,” Harley nodded his head. “But the bullet came out just at the vertex of the spine.”
He paused, as if waiting for some comment, and:
“You mean that the shot came from above?” I said, slowly.
“Obviously it came from above, Knox. Keep these two points in your mind, and then consider the fact that someone lighted a lamp in the Guest House only a few moments after the shot had been fired.”
“I remember. I saw it.”
“So did I,” said Harley, grimly, “and I saw something else.”
“What was that?”