“There’s nothing in that, Colonel,” he said. “The surgeons say that the bulk of the bullet was about the size of a thirty-two caliber; there was the pistol on the floor from which it had been fired.” The big attorney made a gesture with his hand. “Let us adhere precisely to the truth,” he said, “and the truth is that the bullet was so battered that no one can say accurately what caliber it was. Doctor Hull says that he thinks it was a thirty-two, but he also says that he does not know.” The prosecuting attorney persisted. “But there on the floor was the pistol from which two bullets had been fired.” “Ah!” said the attorney. “Now, we have got to the very point by which the innocence of this prisoner is established. If two bullets were fired in that room, with the doors and windows closed, and one of them killed Collander, where did the other one go that did not kill him?” He turned to the chief of police. He advanced toward him. His voice became low—became confidential—as of one who discusses a secret, covert, hidden matter with another. “Now, Bobby,” he said, “I directed you to go over that room from top to bottom carefully, every inch of it, precisely as it stood after you had sealed the doors and windows. For what purpose? To determine, Bobby, what became of that other bullet. A bullet cannot vanish. It cannot disappear. It has to hit something. Did you find what it hit?” The chief of police moved in his chair. His figure lost some aspect of its assurance. He became perplexed. His voice took on a sort of apology. He looked at the judge, at the prosecuting attorney, at the jury. “I have to tell the truth about it,” he said finally. “I couldn’t find where that other bullet hit. I never could find it.” “You went over everything in the room, didn’t you?” continued the Colonel. “You went over it with Doctor Hull and with Scalley. You went over every inch of it.” “Yes,” replied the chief of police, “we went over every inch of it.” “And you didn’t find the mark of the bullet?” The chief of police addressed the judge. “No, your Honor, we couldn’t find it. It’s a mystery what became of that other bullet. The person who shot at Collander must have missed him the first time because only one bullet hit him and there were two shots fired. I heard ’em, and there were two empty cartridges in the pistol. Whoever killed him must have shot at him and missed him. But if they did, that bullet had to hit something in the room; and it never hit anything in the room!” “Ah!” The attorney’s voice returned to its normal volume. “You couldn’t be mistaken about that, Bobby?” “No,” the chief of police answered, “there can’t be any mistake about it. I went over it too carefully, too many times; there’s no bullet mark in that room.” He said it with an energy of final decision that dismissed the question conclusively.