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Page 118
"Ah, you have got wind of it, have you?"
"I have no information on the point," replied Harley, "but your manner
urges me to suggest that perhaps success has crowned your efforts?"
"It has," replied the Inspector. "I am a man that doesn't do things by
halves. I didn't content myself with just staring out of the window of
that little hut in the grounds of the Guest House, like you did, Mr.
Harley, and saying 'twice one are two'--I looked at every book on the
shelves, and at every page of those books."
"You must have materially added to your information?"
"Ah, very likely, but my enquiries didn't stop there. I had the floor
up."
"The floor of the hut?"
"The floor of the hut, sir. The planks were quite loose. I had
satisfied myself that it was a likely hiding place."
"What did you find there, a dead rat?"
Inspector Aylesbury turned, and:
"Sergeant Butler," he called.
The sergeant came forward from the hall, carrying a cricket bag. This
Inspector Aylesbury took from him, placing it upon the floor of the
library at his feet.
"New, sir," said he, "I borrowed this bag in which to bring the
evidence away--the hanging evidence which I discovered beneath the
floor of the hut."
I had turned again, when the man had referred to his discovery; and
now, glancing at Harley, I saw that his face had grown suddenly very
stern.
"Show me your evidence, Inspector?" he asked, shortly.
"There can be no objection," returned the Inspector.
Opening the bag, he took out a rifle!
Paul Harley's hands were thrust in his coat pockets, By the movement of
the cloth I could see that he had clenched his fists. Here was
confirmation of my theory!
"A Service rifle," said the Inspector, triumphantly, holding up the
weapon. "A Lee-Enfield charger-loader. It contains four cartridges,
three undischarged, and one discharged. He had not even troubled to
eject it."
The Inspector dropped the weapon into the bag with a dramatic movement.
"Fancy theories about bat wings and Voodoos," he said, scornfully, "may
satisfy you, Mr. Harley, but I think this rifle will prove more
satisfactory to the Coroner."
He picked up the bag and walked out of the library.
Harley stood posed in a curiously rigid way, looking after him. Even
when the door had closed he did not change his position at once. Then,
turning slowly, he walked to an armchair and sat down.
"Harley," I said, hesitatingly, "has this discovery surprised you?"
"Surprised me?" he returned in a low voice. "It has appalled me."
"Then, although you seemed to regard my theory as sound," I continued
rather resentfully, "all the time you continued to believe Colin Camber
to be innocent?"
"I believe so still."
"What?"
"I thought we had determined, Knox," he said, wearily, "that a man of
Camber's genius, having decided upon murder, must have arranged for an
unassailable alibi. Very well. Are we now to leap to the other end of
the scale, and to credit him with such utter stupidity as to place
hanging evidence where it could not fail to be discovered by the most
idiotic policeman? Preserve your balance, Knox. Theories are wild
horses. They run away with us. I know that of old, for which very
reason I always avoid speculation until I have a solid foundation of
fact upon which to erect it."
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