“You know Miss Gwyn better than I do,” he said good-humouredly. “Speaking for myself, I find that life is much easier to live if you keep your mouth shut. Not,” he added hastily, “that I want to be offensive. That’s only my way of reasoning and my way of talking. There used to be an officer in our division who rose from the rank of plain police constable to superintendent by the simple process of never saying anything to anybody. If he was asked for his opinion on a matter he used to shake his head and say there was much to be said on both sides but he had his own private opinion, and even when he was called into a case he’d say nothing, but listen to what everybody else said and smile. That smile was worth a thousand a year to him.” They crossed the rose garden and were strolling across the lawn. Under a huge elm Mr. Puttler stopped to continue a story which was fated never to be finished. “One day the superintendent said to this man, whose name was Carter, ‘Carter,’ he said, ‘I can’t understand----’” _Crack!_ A bullet snicked past the detective’s face, struck the bole of the tree, and sent the bark splintering. From a clump of rhododendron bushes two hundred yards away floated a pale blue cloud. “Down on your face!” said Dick hoarsely, and dragged the girl to the ground, only just in time. _Crack!_ The second bullet struck a little lower. A splinter of bark hummed past the girl’s ear. “There’s someone in those bushes who doesn’t like me,” said Mr. Puttler. Pulling a long-barrelled Browning from his pocket and bending low, he sprinted toward the bushes, zigzagging as he ran. A third shot rang out and the running man pitched forward on his face and lay still. XXVI Dick flew forward to the prostrate figure, and, kneeling by his side, turned him on his back. His eyelids were working spasmodically, but there was no sign of injury, except a bruise on the side of his face which had been caused by his coming violently into contact with the ground. And then Dick saw the man’s right boot. The sole had been ripped off and there was a patch of blood showing on the toe of the sock. At the sound of a rustling skirt Dick turned his head. The girl was coming toward them. “Go back behind that tree and don’t move,” he shouted authoritatively, but for once she did not obey him. She was rather pale, but there was no other evidence of fear, as she knelt by his side and began to unfasten the collar of the stricken man. “He’s stunned. I don’t think it’s anything worse than that,” said Dick. “I thought at first he was finished--look at his boot!” He was pulling it off gingerly and the operation must have hurt a little, because the detective winced and opened his eyes. “Hullo! What has happened?” he asked, looking round. “Did that bird shoot me?” “I don’t think he’s hurt you very much.” Dick was looking at the foot. The bullet had ricochetted, cutting a shallow gash on the man’s instep, but there was no other injury.