"You note the direction in which he was
facing when he fell?"
He spoke in a stern and unnatural voice.
"I do. He must have turned half right when he came to the sun-dial."
"Where were you when the shot was fired?"
"Running in this direction."
"You saw no flash?"
"None."
"Neither did I," groaned Harley; "neither did I. And short of throwing
a cordon round the hills what can be done? How can I move?"
He had somewhat relaxed, but now as I continued to clutch his arm, I
felt the muscles grow rigid again.
"Look, Knox!" he whispered--"look!"
I followed the direction of his fixed stare, and through the trees on
the hillside a dim light shone out. Someone had lighted a lamp in the
Guest House.
A faint, sibilant sound drew my glance upward, and there overhead a bat
circled--circled--dipped--and flew off toward the distant woods. So
still was the night that I could distinguish the babble of the little
stream which ran down into the lake. Then, suddenly, came a loud
flapping of wings. The swans had been awakened by the sound of the
shot. Others had been awakened, too, for now distant voices became
audible, and then a muffled scream from somewhere within Cray's Folly.
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