“You are wasting your time, Mr. Harley,” he declared, “as Detective-Inspector Wessex will be the first to admit when I have given him the facts of my case. Nevertheless, if you want to examine the garden, do so by all means.” He turned without another word and stamped out of the library across the hall and into the courtyard. “I will join you again in a few minutes, Wessex,” said Paul Harley, following. “Very good, Mr. Harley,” Wessex answered. “I know you wouldn’t have had me down if the case had been as simple as he seems to think it is.” I joined Harley, and we walked together up the gravelled path, meeting Inspector Aylesbury and the constable returning. “Go ahead, Mr. Harley!” cried the Inspector. “If you can find any stronger evidence than the rifle, I shall be glad to take a look at it.” Harley nodded good-humouredly, and together we descended the steps to the sunken garden. I was intensely curious respecting the investigation which Harley had been so anxious to make here, for I recognized that it was associated with something which he had seen from the window of Camber’s hut. He walked along the moss-grown path to the sun-dial, and stood for a moment looking down at the spot where Menendez had lain. Then he stared up the hill toward the Guest House; and finally, directing his attention to the yews which lined the sloping bank: “One, two, three, four,” he counted, checking them with his fingers--“five, six, seven.” He mounted the bank and began to examine the trunk of one of the trees, whilst I watched him in growing astonishment. Presently he turned and looked down at me. “Not a trace, Knox,” he murmured; “not a trace. Let us try again.” He moved along to the yew adjoining that which he had already inspected, but presently shook his head and passed to the next. Then: “Ah!” he cried. “Come here, Knox!” I joined him where he was kneeling, staring at what I took to be a large nail, or bolt, protruding from the bark of the tree. “You see!” he exclaimed, “you see!” I stooped, in order to examine the thing more closely, and as I did so, I realized what it was. It was the bullet which had killed Colonel Menendez! Harley stood upright, his face slightly flushed and his eyes very bright. “We shall not attempt to remove it, Knox,” he said. “The depth of penetration may have a tale to tell. The wood of the yew tree is one of the toughest British varieties.” “But, Harley,” I said, blankly, as we descended to the path, “this is merely another point for the prosecution of Camber. Unless”--I turned to him in sudden excitement, “the bullet was of different--” “No, no,” he murmured, “nothing so easy as that, Knox. The bullet was fired from a Lee-Enfield beyond doubt.” 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.”