"Aw, Sergeant, how did I know it was you prowling around in all that dark?" Joe complained. It was evident that Joe had made another of his unfortunate mistakes. But McGinty forgot and forgave when he saw the body of Biggert lying there on the lawn. The sergeant bent his thick knees, took Jeff Weedham's flashlight, turned it on the corpse. "It was obviously a mistake," Jack Carlson was explaining smoothly. "The killer had no designs on Biggert, certainly." "Huh?" McGinty looked up, his red face contorted by a puzzled frown. "What do you mean, it was a mistake?" "This is obviously the Eye's work," Carlson explained. "I was standing just about in this spot when this man Biggert came running around the house and directly in front of me. That was when the shot was fired. The bullet was intended for me. You would expect as much after the Eye's warning." McGinty nodded his head. "Could be. And believe me, Mr. Carlson, you'd better put yourself under police protection." "I can take care of myself, thanks," Carlson insisted. As he turned away from McGinty and the body, his eyes met those of Kip Burland. And then Carlson stepped quickly to the outer rim of the circle around the body. Kip Burland knew that Carlson was lying. Carlson hadn't been near Biggert at the time of the shooting. It was Carlson whom Burland had seen running toward the body. "D-d-dad," Jeff Weedham stammered, "where was Biggert when we were in the library?" "Oh, how should I know!" The elder Weedham ran his fingers through his gray hair. "I don't know where he was. In his room, I suppose, going over my personal accounts." "Possibly," Major Paxton put in, "he was disturbed when the lights went out in the house and came down to investigate. He probably heard the rest of us outside the house, searching for that prowler who turned the light through the library window." "And possibly," McGinty said, "Biggert had discovered something pretty important, too! There's a little scrap of yellow paper in his fingers--just a corner, as though somebody snatched a note or something from his hand." "Just a corner, you say, Sergeant?" Jack Carlson asked. "When he fell in front of me, I noticed that there was quite a sizable slip of paper in his hand." "There was, huh?" McGinty's eyes rested accusingly upon each face in the circle about the body. "All right. Now just tell me who first joined you and the murdered man, Mr. Carlson." Carlson looked at Kip Burland. "It was that young man," he said. "Burland, huh?" McGinty said. "I guess I'll have to search your pockets, Burland, if you've no objection." Kip smiled. "None whatever, Sergeant." McGinty went through Kip's pockets. He ignored the fountain pen which was clipped in plain sight. He stood back, shook his head.