“And your brother did not return. At a quarter to six your son, Andrew, and a young woman — you, I believe, Miss Fleet — emerging from a wood — stumbled upon his body. Half his head had been blown off by the shotgun, which was lying near by. Your son remained there and Miss Fleet went to the house, the other side of the woods some four hundred yards distant, to notify Mr. Dunn. Mr. Dunn himself telephoned to New City. Sheriff Bryant, with a deputy, arrived at the scene at 6:35, and Dr. Gyger a few minutes later. They came to the conclusion that Hawthorne had tripped on a briar — the body lay in a patch of briars — or that the gun’s trigger had caught on a briar — at any rate, that the gun had been accidentally discharged.”
“They agreed on that, and their official reports severally so stated,” Mr. Regan put in. “If it hadn’t been for Lon Chambers it would have stayed that way.”
“Who is Lon Chambers?” Prescott inquired.
Skinner told him: “The deputy sheriff.” His glance shot over June’s shoulder at her son. “You’re Andrew Dunn, aren’t you?”
The young man said he was.
“It was you — you and Miss Fleet — who discovered Hawthorne’s body?”
“It was.”
“You decided at once that he was dead?”
“Of course. It was obvious.”
“You stayed there and sent Miss Fleet to the house to notify your father?”