Superintendent Battle had moved on swift noiseless feet over to the bookcase a little to the right of the screen. He bent down, searching. Presently he stooped and picked something up.
“It wasn’t a bullet, Countess,” he said. “It’s the shell of the cartridge. Where were you standing when you fired, Mr. Thesiger?”
Jimmy took up a position by the window.
“As nearly as I can see, about here.”
Superintendent Battle placed himself in the same spot.
“That’s right,” he agreed. “The empty shell would throw right rear. It’s a .455. I don’t wonder the Countess thought it was a bullet in the dark. It hit the bookcase about a foot from her. The bullet itself grazed the window frame and we’ll find it outside tomorrow—unless your assailant happens to be carrying it about in him.”
Jimmy shook his head regretfully.
“Leopold, I fear, did not cover himself with glory,” he remarked sadly.
The Countess was looking at him with most flattering attention.
“Your arm!” she exclaimed. “It is all tied up! Was it you then—?”
Jimmy made her a mock bow.
“I’m so glad I’ve got a cultured, English voice,” he said. “And I can assure you that I wouldn’t have dreamed of using the language I did if I had had any suspicion that a lady was present.”
“I did not understand all of it,” the Countess hastened to explain. “Although I had an English governess when I was young—”