nonsense.”
“Would it convince you, sir, were I to remove the bullet and let it speak for itself? Imperfections in the barrel leave their markings, don’t they? You can then doubtless determine which one of these two young men fired the unhappy shot.”
“Please don’t get irritated, Doctor. I’m not trying to annoy you or to be funny. It’s simply that I cannot see—just where is the wound located, Doctor?”
“In the chest.”
“Cassidy, where were you and Hansen standing?”
“We was crouched on the floor just inside the room, sir—not over five feet off from Hollander,” Cassidy said.
“Then consider your angles, Doctor. There’s Endicott—there’s about where my men were crouched. It would take pretty wild shooting for either of them to hit Endicott in the chest. In fact, one might almost consider it impossible.”
Dr. Worth still hovered around zero. “From the number of innocent bystanders whom one reads about in the newspapers as having been shot down by the police—”
“That is an unfair comparison, Doctor. Those cases you refer to have all involved a chase of some sort—rapid motion—streets cluttered up with people. There was nothing like that here. I’m going to call up Central Office and ask permission for you to remove the bullet and determine the angle of its path.”
“Permission, sir? And do you think it is my business or my pleasure to go probing about for bullets and determining the angles of their paths? I happen to be a specialist, sir—”