“Exactly. The candle， which was a new one， is not burned morethan half an inch. He must have placed it on the table before hewas attacked； otherwise， of course， it would have fallen whenhe fell. This shows that he was not attacked the instant that heentered the room. When Mr. Barker arrived the candle was lit andthe lamp was out.”
“That’s all clear enough.”
“Well， now， we can reconstruct things on those lines. Mr.
Douglas enters the room. He puts down the candle. A man appearsfrom behind the curtain. He is armed with this gun. He demandsthe wedding ring—Heaven only knows why， but so it must havebeen. Mr. Douglas gave it up. Then either in cold blood or in thecourse of a struggle—Douglas may have gripped the hammer thatwas found upon the mat—he shot Douglas in this horrible way.
He dropped his gun and also it would seem this queer card—V.
V. 341， whatever that may mean—and he made his escape throughthe window and across the moat at the very moment when CecilBarker was discovering the crime. How’s that， Mr. Holmes？”
“Very interesting， but just a little unconvincing.”
“Man， it would be absolute nonsense if it wasn’t that anythingelse is even worse！” cried MacDonald. “Somebody killed the man，and whoever it was I could clearly prove to you that he shouldhave done it some other way. What does he mean by allowinghis retreat to be cut off like that？ What does he mean by using ashotgun when silence was his one chance of escape？ Come， Mr.
Holmes， it’s up to you to give us a lead， since you say Mr. WhiteMason’s theory is unconvincing.”
Holmes had sat intently observant during this long discussion，missing no word that was said， with his keen eyes darting to rightand to left， and his forehead wrinkled with speculation.
“I should like a few more facts before I get so far as a theory，Mr. Mac，” said he， kneeling down beside the body. “Dear me！
these injuries are really appalling. Can we have the butler in fora moment？... Ames， I understand that you have often seen thisvery unusual mark—a branded triangle inside a circle—upon Mr.
Douglas’s forearm？”
“Frequently， sir.”
“You never heard any speculation as to what it meant？”
“No， sir.”
“It must have caused great pain when it was inflicted. It isundoubtedly a burn. Now， I observe， Ames， that there is a smallpiece of plaster at the angle of Mr. Douglas’s jaw. Did you observethat in life？”
“Yes， sir， he cut himself in shaving yesterday morning.”
“Did you ever know him to cut himself in shaving before？”
“Not for a very long time， sir.”
“Suggestive！” said Holmes. “It may， of course， be a merecoincidence， or it may point to some nervousness which wouldindicate that he had reason to apprehend danger. Had you noticedanything unusual in his conduct， yesterday， Ames？”
“It struck me that he was a little restless and excited， sir.”
“Ha！ The attack may not have been entirely unexpected. Wedo seem to make a little progress， do we not？ Perhaps you wouldrather do the questioning， Mr. Mac？”
“No， Mr. Holmes， it’s in better hands than mine.”
“Well， then， we will pass to this card—V.V. 341. It is roughcardboard. Have you any of the sort in the house？”
“I don’t think so.”
Holmes walked across to the desk and dabbed a little ink fromeach bottle on to the blotting paper. “It was not printed in thisroom，” he said； “this is black ink and the other purplish. It wasdone by a thick pen， and these are fine. No， it was done elsewhere，I should say. Can you make anything of the inscription， Ames？”
“No， sir， nothing.”
“What do you think， Mr. Mac？”
“It gives me the impression of a secret society of some sort； thesame with his badge upon the forearm.”
“That’s my idea， too，” said White Mason.
“Well， we can adopt it as a working hypothesis and then see howfar our difficulties disappear. An agent from such a society makeshis way into the house， waits for Mr. Douglas， blows his headnearly off with this weapon， and escapes by wading the moat， afterleaving a card beside the dead man， which will， when mentionedin the papers， tell other members of the society that vengeancehas been done. That all hangs together. But why this gun， of allweapons？”
“Exactly.”
“And why the missing ring？”
“Quite so.”
“And why no arrest？ It’s past two now. I take it for granted thatsince dawn every constable within forty miles has been lookingout for a wet stranger？”
“That is so， Mr. Holmes.”
“Well， unless he has a burrow close by or a change of clothesready， they can hardly miss him. And yet they have missed himup to now！” Holmes had gone to the window and was examiningwith his lens the blood mark on the sill. “It is clearly the tread of ashoe. It is remarkably broad； a splay-foot， one would say. Curious，because， so far as one can trace any footmark in this mud-stainedcorner， one would say it was a more shapely sole. However， theyare certainly very indistinct. What’s this under the side table？”
“Mr. Douglas’s dumb-bells，” said Ames.
“Dumb-bell—there’s only one. Where’s the other？”
“I don’t know， Mr. Holmes. There may have been only one. Ihave not noticed them for months.”
“One dumb-bell—” Holmes said seriously； but his remarks wereinterrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
A tall， sunburned， capable-looking， clean-shaved man looked inat us. I had no difficulty in guessing that it was the Cecil Barkerof whom I had heard. His masterful eyes travelled quickly with aquestioning glance from face to face.
“Sorry to interrupt your consultation，” said he， “but you shouldhear the latest news.”
“An arrest？”
“No such luck. But they’ve found his bicycle. The fellow left hisbicycle behind him. Come and have a look. It is within a hundredyards of the hall door.”
We found three or four grooms and idlers standing in the driveinspecting a bicycle which had been drawn out from a clump ofevergreens in which it had been concealed. It was a well usedRudge-Whitworth， splashed as from a considerable journey. Therewas a saddlebag with spanner and oilcan， but no clue as to theowner.
