“I see,” said Sir Oswald thoughtfully.
“Can you be sure of that, Battle?” put in George.
“Quite sure, sir. There are one other set of tracks crossing the lawn, Miss Wade’s, but they are a good deal farther to the left.”
He paused, and then went on: “And there’s the dent in the ground. The pistol must have struck the ground with some force. It all points to its having been thrown.”
“Well, why not?” said Sir Oswald. “Say the man fled down the path to the left. He’d leave no footprints on the path and he’d hurl the pistol away from him into the middle of the lawn, eh, Lomax?”
George agreed by a nod of the head.
“It’s true that he’d leave no footprints on the path,” said Battle, “but from the shape of the dent and the way the turf was cut, I don’t think the pistol was thrown from that direction. I think it was thrown from the terrace here.”
“Very likely,” said Sir Oswald. “Does it matter, Superintendent?”
“Ah, yes. Battle,” broke in George. “Is it—er—strictly relevant?”
“Perhaps not, Mr. Lomax. But we like to get things just so, you know. I wonder now if one of you gentlemen would take the pistol and throw it. Will you, Sir Oswald? That’s very kind. Stand just here in the window. Now fling it into the middle of the lawn.” Sir Oswald complied, sending the pistol flying through the air with a powerful sweep of his arm. Jimmy Thesiger drew near with breathless interest. The Superintendent lumbered off after it like a well-trained retriever. He reappeared with a beaming face.