ng the meal we chatted
about affairs in the East; that is, my father and I did, and Syl--Miss
Manning--gave us some news of a church bazaar in which she is taking
part.

"My father rose first and went to his room, to collect papers brought
from the City overnight. I met him on the stairs, and he gave me some
instructions about a prospectus. (Let me interpolate that I was going
to Victoria by a later train, having an appointment at eleven o'clock
with Lord Ventnor, chairman of a company we are bringing out.) I stood
on the stairs, saying something, while my father crossed the hall and
took his hat and gloves from Harris, the footman. As I passed along
the gallery to my own room I saw him standing on the landing at the
top of the steps.

"He was cutting the end off a cigar, and Harris was just behind him
and a little to the left, striking a match. Every fine morning my
father lighted a cigar there. In rain or high wind he would light up
inside the house. By the way, my mother is an invalid, and dislikes
the smell of tobacco, so unless we have guests we don't smoke indoors.

"Well, I had reached my room, a sitting-room adjoining my bedroom,
when I heard a gunshot. Apparently it came from the Quarry Wood, and I
was surprised, because there is no shooting at this season. A little
later--some few seconds--I heard Sylvia scream. I did not rush out
instantly to discover the cause. Young ladies sometimes scream at
wasps and caterpillars. Then I heard Tomlinson say, 'Fetch Mr. Hilton
at once,' and I ran into Harris, who blurted out, 'Mr. Fenley has been
shot, sir.'

"After that, I scarcely know what I said or how I acted. I remember
running downstairs, and finding my father lying outside the front
door, with Sylvia supporting his head and Tomlinson and Brodie trying
to lift him. I think--in fact, I am sure now from what Dr. Stern tells
me--that my father was dead before I reached him. We all thought at
first that he had yielded to some awfully sudden form of paralysis,
but some one--Tomlinson, I believe--noticed a hole through the right
side of his coat and waistcoat. Then Sylvia--oh, perhaps that is
matterless----"

"Every incident, however slight, is of importance in a case of this
sort," Winter encouraged him.

"Well, she said--what was it, exactly? Do you remember, Sylvia?"

"Certainly," said the girl, unhesitatingly. "I said that I thought I
recognized the sound of Bob's .450. Why shouldn't I say it? Poor Bob
didn'