“I sent a message down for you because you're the Lord High Muck-a-muck in the police hereabouts; and the sooner the police get hold of the beggar who tried to do me in, the better I'll be pleased. It's no advertisement for a new hotel to have one of its guests half murdered within a week of his arrival.” “True. Suppose you explain what happened.” Cargill seemed to see that he had hardly approached the matter in a tactful manner. “I'm a bit sore at present, and perhaps I sounded peevish. But it's enough to make one lose one's rag a bit, I think. Here's what happened. This evening, after dinner, I strolled across the bay to pay a visit to my friend Fordingbridge at Flatt's cottage. We sat there for a while, playing cards; and then I thought I might as well be getting home again. So I said good-bye to them——” “Who was there?” Sir Clinton interjected. “Fordingbridge and Billingford,” Cargill replied. “I said good-bye to them, and set off for home——” “Did anyone see you off the premises?” the chief constable interrupted once more. Cargill shook his head. “I'm an old pal of Fordingbridge's, so he didn't trouble to come to the door with me. I put on my hat and coat and gave the cottage door a slam after me, to let them hear I was gone. Then I walked down that muddy path of theirs.” “You didn't notice if anyone followed you?” Cargill reflected for a moment. “I didn't notice particularly, of course; but I can't think that anyone did. I mean I can't remember anything that suggests that to my memory, you understand?” Sir Clinton nodded to him to continue his story. “When I got down to the road, I turned off in this direction. Now, that's the point where I do remember someone behind me. I heard steps. After a yard or two, I looked round—you know how one does that, without having any particular reason. But it was a heavily clouded night, and the moon didn't light things up much. All I could see was a figure tramping along the road behind me—about a couple of dozen yards behind, I should think.” “No idea who it was, I suppose?” Sir Clinton questioned. “Not the foggiest. I thought it might be one of the hotel people, so I slowed down a trifle for the sake of company. No one except some of the hotel crowd would be walking in this direction at that time of night. The next thing I heard was the sound of steps coming up behind me, and then there was the crack of a pistol, and down I went in the road with a bullet in my leg.” “Whereabouts were you at the time?” “About fifty yards along the road from the path to Flatt's cottage, I should say. But you'll find the place all right in daylight. I bled a good deal, and it'll be all over the road where I fell.” “And then?” “Well, I was considerably surprised,” said Cargill drily. “Very natural in the circumstances,” Sir Clinton admitted, giving Cargill humour for humour. “What did you think had happened?”