“You’ve touched a sore spot there, Squire. But did it never occur to you that I didn’t expect an attack on Miss Hawkhurst? What I did expect was something quite different. Didn’t it strike you as peculiar that I angled for that invitation to play bridge when it obviously wasn’t the sort of thing that one expects? I had to put on a pretty tough hide to wangle that with a straight face.” “Yes,” Wendover confirmed, “it was a piece of rank bad taste and I was surprised at your doing it.” “It was. And I’m not usually celebrated for that kind of thing. Don’t you see what I was driving at, Squire? I expected the next attack to be made on myself—and I took good care to make an opportunity for it by going on to the murderer’s own ground. The whole bridge-party affair was a plant of mine to make myself a good target for the air-gun expert.” “My godfathers!” Wendover ejaculated in surprise, “I never thought that was what you were after. You’ve got fair nerves, Clinton, to offer yourself up like that to be shot at.” “I’d rather take it when I was ready for it than have it unexpectedly—hence the bridge-party. I felt he’d hardly be able to resist the chance of a sitting shot.” “H’m! I don’t know that I’d have been able to screw myself up to that point.” “Of course you would! You didn’t hesitate over the risk of going after that fellow, through the window.” “Yes,” Wendover admitted, “but that was in hot blood, which is rather different.” Sir Clinton brushed this aside. “The trouble is that I didn’t get what I wanted, after all. Miss Hawkhurst was hit. But you may remember that just when the brute pulled the trigger, she leaned slightly forward and put out her hand, whilst I happened to lean back. The dart went past you, and it struck her arm; but I can’t for the life of me be sure whether that was an accident or not. If I knew whether that shot was meant for me or for her, I’d know rather more about the case than I do; and I’d be in an easier frame of mind, I can tell you.” A fresh point seemed to occur to him. “By the way, Squire, your surmise about the fate of the air-gun in the first attacks turns out to be correct. My men have been dragging the river near the bank at the boat-house; and we’ve got the air-gun that killed the two Shandons. The murderer must have pitched it into the water just as you suggested.” Wendover was distinctly pleased at this tribute to his acuteness. “Is there anything identifiable about it?” he demanded. “It seems to have come from the Whistlefield armoury,” Sir Clinton replied. “Confound them, I wish they hadn’t gone in so strong for air-guns. It makes things more difficult.” CHAPTER XIV. The Forged Cheque Sir Clinton had yet another surprise in store for his host. Just before dinner, he apparently made up his mind to ring up Whistlefield; and to Wendover’s astonishment he suggested that the Squire should accompany him to the telephone.