“Show it us, then.”
“Look there, what do you see on the snow?”
“The track of a wolf; what of that?”
“And close to the mark of the right foot—there—what do you see?”
“A little hole.”
“Well, do you understand?”
The keepers looked at each other in astonishment.
“Do you understand now?” repeated Mocquet.
“The thing’s impossible!” exclaimed the keepers.
“Nevertheless it is so, and I will prove it to you.”
And so saying, Mocquet plunged his hand into the snow, felt about a moment or two, and then, with a cry of triumph, pulled out a flattened bullet.
“Why, that’s my bullet,” I said.
“You recognise it, then?”
“Of course I do, you marked it for me.”
“And what mark did I put on it?”
“A cross.”
“You see, sirs,” said Mocquet.
“Yes, but explain how this happened.”