above his body as he lay in bed. The course the bullet took in the woodwork would indicate that it had been fired from one of the windows—either through it or from just inside.
“Exon woke up, of course, but he saw nobody. The rest of us—my wife, Miss Caywood, the Figgs, and myself—were also awakened by the shot. We all rushed into his room, and we saw nothing either. There’s no doubt that whoever fired it left by the window. Otherwise some of us would have seen him—we came from every other direction. However, we found nobody on the grounds, and no traces of anybody. That, I think, is all.”
“Who are the Figgs, and who else is there on the place besides you and your wife, Mr. Exon, and his nurse?”
“The Figgs are Adam and Emma; she is the housekeeper and he is a sort of handyman about the place. Their room is in the extreme rear, on the second floor. Besides them, there is Gong Lim, the cook, who sleeps in a little room near the kitchen, and the three farm hands. Joe Natara and Felipe Fadelia are Italians, and have been here for possibly more than two years; Jesus Mesa, a Mexican, has been here a year or longer. The farm hands sleep in a little house near the barns. I think—if my opinion is of any value—that none of these people had anything to do with the shooting.”
“Did you dig the bullet out of the doorframe?”
“Yes. Shand, the deputy sheriff at Knownburg, dug it out. He says it is a 38-caliber bullet.”
“Any guns of that caliber in the house?”
“No. A .22 and my .44—which I keep in the car—are the only pistols on the place. Then there are two shotguns and a .30‒30 rifle. Shand made a thorough search, and found nothing else in the way of firearms.”