ing the nail upward he raised the flame of the candle level with the base of the embedded bullet.
“By heavens!” cried Wessex, suddenly divining the object of these proceedings, “Mr. Harley, this is genius!”
“Thank you, Wessex,” Harley replied, quietly, but nevertheless he was unable to hide his gratification. “You see my point?”
“Certainly.”
“In ten minutes we shall know the truth.”
“Oh, I see,” muttered Inspector Aylesbury; “we shall know the truth, eh? If you ask me the truth, it’s this, that we are a set of lunatics.”
“My dear Inspector Aylesbury,” said Harley, good humouredly, “surely you have grasped the lesson of experiment number one?”
“Well,” admitted the other, “it’s funny, certainly. I mean, it wants a lot of explaining, but I can’t say I’m convinced.”
“That’s a pity,” murmured Wessex, “because I am.”
“You see, Inspector,” Harley continued, patiently, “the body of Colonel Menendez as it lay formed a straight line between the sun-dial and the hut in the garden of the Guest House. That is to say: a line drawn from the window of the hut to the sun-dial must have passed through the body. Very well. Such an imaginary line, if continued beyond the sun-dial, would have terminated near the base of the seventh yew tree. Accordingly, I naturally looked for the bullet there. It was not there. But I found it, as you know, in the ninth tree. Therefore, the shot could not possibly have been fired from the Guest House, because the spot in the ninth yew where the bullet had lodged is not visible from the Guest House.”
