"So it is reasonable to suppose that if any one had appeared in that same place this morning and taken steady aim at Mr. Fenley, you would have twigged him, too." "It strikes me that way, sir." "Did you see nothing--not even a puff of smoke? You must certainly have looked at the wood when you heard the shot." "I did, sir. Not a leaf moved. Just a couple of pheasants flew out, and the rooks around the house kicked up such a row that I didn't know the Guv'nor was down till Harris shouted." "Where did the pheasants fly from?" "They kem out a bit below the rock; but they were risin' birds, an' may have started from the ground higher up." "No birds were startled before the shot was fired?" "Not to my knowledge, sir. But June pheasants are very tame, and they lie marvelous close. A pheasant would just as soon run as fly." The detectives began a detailed inquiry almost at once. It covered the ground already traversed, and the only new incident happened when Hilton Fenley, at the moment repeating his evidence, was called to the telephone. "If either of you cares to smoke there are cigars and Virginia cigarettes on the sideboard," he said. "Or, if you prefer Turkish, here are some," and he laid a gold case on the table. Furneaux grabbed it when the door had closed. "All neurotics use Turkish cigarettes," he said solemnly. "Ah, I guessed it! A strong, vile, scented brand!" "Sometimes, my dear Charles, you talk rubbish," sighed Winter. "Maybe. I never think or smoke it. 'Language was given us to conceal our thoughts,' said Talleyrand. I have always admired Talleyrand, 'that rather middling bishop but very eminent knave,' as de Quincey called him. '_Cre nom!_ I wonder what de Quincey meant by 'middling.' A man who could keep in the front rank under the Bourbons, during the Revolution, with Napoleon, and back again under the Bourbons, and yet die in bed, must have been superhuman. St. Peter, in his stead, would have lost his napper at least four times." Winter stirred uneasily, and gazed out across the Italian garden and park, for the detectives were again installed in the dining-room. "What about that artist, Trenholme?" he said after a pause. "We'll look him up. Before leaving this house I want to peep into various rooms. And there's Tomlinson. Tomlinson is a rich mine. Do leave him to me. I'll dig into him deep, and extract ore of high percentage--see if I don't." "Do you know, Charles, I've a notion that we shall get closer to bed-rock in London than here." Furneaux pretended to look for an invisible halo surrounding his chief's close-cropped bullet head. "Sometimes," he said reverently, "you frighten me when you bring off a brilliant remark like that. I seem to see lightning zigzagging round Jove's dome." Fenley returned. "It was a call from the bank," he announced. "They have just seen the newspapers. I told them I would run up to town this afternoon."