"Had it an occupant?" asked Shagarach.
"Three squirrels," answered Dr. Silsby, "investigating a can of corn."
"Nothing else?"
"Some old newspapers, a blanket, a stool and a mighty ugly collection of instruments, I tell you, including this article, which I confiscated."
He removed a pistol which lay at the bottom of his basket, handling the specimens as carefully as if they had been wounded kittens.
"Is it loaded?" asked McCausland, taking it in his hand and unhinging the butt. The backs of three cartridges stared out from the cylinder.
"You kept the second bullet, Shagarach, I believe," said McCausland, removing a cartridge. Shagarach rolled out a flattened bullet from a pen box in his drawer.
"Same caliber," said McCausland. "This looks like the pistol that was aimed at you that evening."
"So you know peeping Tom, then?" asked Dr. Silsby.
"Mr. McCausland and I have two of the three bullets that round out his pistol's complement," answered Shagarach, "and the third is lodged in my ceiling at home too deep for the probe to reach."