“By Gad, I don’t see how he ever got that,” said Hardy.  “Nor this ugly cut here on the forehead.  What do you make out of it, Galesworth?”

I shook my head, thoroughly mystified.

“I’ve told you all I know; he was lying there in the open when I found him—­there was nothing he could have struck against in falling.”

“That was a blow struck him,” insisted the sergeant, “either by a square-handled pistol, or a carbine stock.  I’ve seen that sorter thing before; but who the hell ever hit him?”

No one attempted to answer.  Then I said,

“The only thing I have noticed which might be a clue is this:  when I first came in through the kitchen I discovered a clod of fresh clay dirt on the back stairs.  I supposed it had dropped from Le Gaire’s boots.  But there’s no sign of yellow clay on his boots now.  It must have been some one else.”

“Trailin’ the poor devil,” ejaculated Miles.  “But who was he?  An’ where is he now?”

None attempted a guess, looking blankly into each others’ faces, and down upon the ghastly features of the dead man.  We were all accustomed to death, and in terrible form, but this was different, this held a horror all its own.  I could hear the heavy breathing, we stood so motionless.

“Major Hardy,”—­and it was like sacrilege to break the silence,—­“we can never clear the mystery standing here.  I’ve examined every room on this floor, and there is not so much as a rat in any of them.  Whoever the murderer was, he has either got away, or is hidden on some other floor—­is there an attic?”

“Yes, but with no stairs; the only way to get there is by the kitchen roof.  What do you propose to do?”

“Take a moment and see if I can think it out,” I said, drawing a sheet up over the dead face.  “There must be some simple way to account for all this if we can only get on the right trail.  Come, gentlemen.”

We passed out together, and stopped in front of the closed door.  The firing without was growing so much heavier that all noticed it, Bell striding to the end of the hall, and thrusting his head out of the window.  Still it was not close enough as yet to be alarming, and my thought was upon other things.

“Major, I wish you would go in and speak to your daughter,” I said.  “I told her you would come and tell her all you knew.”

I watched him cross to the door, knock, and enter.

CHAPTER XXVIII

I FORCE BILLIE TO LISTEN

There was a narrow settee against the wall, and I sat down upon it, to think and to wait for Hardy’s return.  Eager as I was to discover the cause of Le Gaire’s death, yet it seemed almost more important that Billie be brought to an understanding of conditions.  Her father could scarcely fail this time to relate in full the details of our encounter, and the girl would realize at once her injustice toward me.  I hardly knew what I dared hope as a result, but she was impulsive, warm-hearted, and would surely endeavor to make amends.  Bell came back from the front of the house.