I stared at him uncomprehendingly.
“Then I am utterly out of my depth, Harley. It, appears to me that the case against Camber is finally and fatally complete. Only the motive remains to be discovered, and I flatter myself that I have already detected this.”
“I am certainly inclined to think,” admitted Harley, “that there is a good deal in your theory.”
“Then, Harley,” I said in bewilderment, “you do believe that Camber committed the murder?”
“On the contrary,” he replied, “I am certain that he did not.”
I stood quite still.
“You are certain?” I began.
“I told you that the test of my theory, Knox, was to be looked for in the seventh yew from the northeast corner of the Tudor garden, did I not?”
“You did. And it is there. A bullet fired from a Lee-Enfield rifle; beyond any possible shadow of doubt the bullet which killed Colonel Menendez.”
“Beyond any possible shadow of doubt, as you say, Knox, the bullet which killed Colonel Menendez.”