The gardener had said that he would go in a moment or so, adding that no one could reach the building without passing up the path. With this, Patton had wandered down the street to the business section and had gone into the first store he noticed, bought tobacco and an evening paper. As he figured it, he was not away from the grounds more than thirty or forty minutes, returning directly after making his purchase. When he came up the path and entered the library, the first thing he saw was the hundreds of bits of paper on the floor, and that the manuscript was destroyed. That was the first thing. Almost in the same moment he saw the figure lying by the rear door. He ran over to its side—to discover it was the gardener and that he was dead—shot. He was so dazed for a moment that he did nothing. Then he went to the phone and called us. It was a simple story, and yet an amazing one. That in the space of one hour—in the time it took Patton to go to a store and buy some tobacco—another murder had been committed in the scientist's library; it seemed almost beyond belief. But that the gardener—a simple-minded man of his type—should be the victim was even more startling. I started to voice my thought, but Carter was ahead of me. “But, John! Why—why under God should any person kill that gardener?” “They never intended to kill the gardener,” came Ranville's dry voice. Bartley gave him a keen look, commenting: “Ranville is right. No one ever intended to kill the gardener. They wanted—that is, if they wished to kill any one—to murder Patton.” “But,” came Patton's wailing voice, “why should any one wish to kill me?” Bartley's eyes met Ranville's, and it was the Englishman who spoke: “I am not so sure that they intended to kill you, Patton. Though if any one was to be killed, why you were the logical victim. What I think happened was this: they thought they killed you. You and the gardener are about the same build. You are both wearing a dark suit to-day, and your height is the same. When they shot at that man, they thought they were shooting you.” “But—” Patton started in a bewildered voice. He was interrupted by Bartley's statement: “Ranville is right, I think; but we might go even further. It is my idea that the murderer never discovered who it was he killed. He thought he killed Patton.” “How do you make that out?” was Carter's question. “I may be wrong, you understand. But it seems to me something like this happened. The gardener, when he said he could see any one come up the path, forgot it was an easy matter for a person to land on the shore in a boat. The trees would hide him from any person down by the gate. I have an idea also that the gardener never hurried about coming to the library. He took his own time and for some unknown reason went to the back door instead of the front one.” “I don't see how you make that out,” broke in Patton. “Look where he was killed,” came the quick response from Ranville.