“But, Major——”
“Pardon me a moment! You may not know, but it is the fact that the fellow has threatened, repeatedly, to do me harm. It’s an old grudge. Years ago I was fortunate enough to be active in sending him to jail, and he’s never forgotten my modest service to the general welfare. Only last week—on the public street, sir—he reviled me, and declared that he would have revenge. It was a fortunate warning, sir; for this morning, when he and I met in the woods—oh, yes; we passed within ten yards of each other—I took care to keep a weather eye open for just some such performance as he undertook. I’d kept his general bearings, and when he blazed away at me—why, sir, I rushed for him. And by Jove! I got him—as good as caught in the act, sir!”
“But not quite caught in the act, sir. There must have been an interval——”
The Major raised a hand. “Pardon me again! Sir, what you speak of is a trifle, a bagatelle. And there was plenty of circumstantial evidence—empty shell in the right-hand barrel of his gun—barrel fouled by the discharge. And he attempted no denial. Why, sir, he merely stood there and cursed me to my face, the scoundrel!”
“And yet,” said Mr. Parker evenly, “I fear you were—and are—in error.”
“Eh?” The Major bristled. “Eh? You fear I’m in error? Most extraordinary statement, sir! Do you mean to insinuate that nobody shot me?”
“I merely suggest that you may not have been shot by Peter Groche.”
“But who else under the canopy could it have been?”
“I am afraid, as I told you—afraid that it was my son.”
“What!” Up sprang the Major. “Man, what do you mean? This boy?” He whipped about, and peered at Sam. “Why, he’s a mere child! Preposterous, sir; utterly preposterous!”