The three men entered the fatal room together， while the horrorstrickenbutler followed at their heels， closing the door behindhim to shut out the terrible scene from the maid servants.
The dead man lay on his back， sprawling with outstretchedlimbs in the centre of the room. He was clad only in a pinkdressing gown， which covered his night clothes. There were carpetslippers on his bare feet. The doctor knelt beside him and helddown the hand lamp which had stood on the table. One glance atthe victim was enough to show the healer that his presence couldbe dispensed with. The man had been horribly injured. Lyingacross his chest was a curious weapon， a shotgun with the barrelsawed off a foot in front of the triggers. It was clear that thishad been fired at close range and that he had received the wholecharge in the face， blowing his head almost to pieces. The triggershad been wired together， so as to make the simultaneous dischargemore destructive.
The country policeman was unnerved and troubled by thetremendous responsibility which had come so suddenly upon him.
“We will touch nothing until my superiors arrive，” he said in ahushed voice， staring in horror at the dreadful head.
“Nothing has been touched up to now，” said Cecil Barker. “I’llanswer for that. You see it all exactly as I found it.”
“When was that？” The sergeant had drawn out his notebook.
“It was just half-past eleven. I had not begun to undress， and Iwas sitting by the fire in my bedroom when I heard the report.
It was not very loud—it seemed to be muffled. I rushed down—Idon’t suppose it was thirty seconds before I was in the room.”
“Was the door open？”
“Yes， it was open. Poor Douglas was lying as you see him. Hisbedroom candle was burning on the table. It was I who lit thelamp some minutes afterward.”
“Did you see no one？”
“No. I heard Mrs. Douglas coming down the stair behind me，and I rushed out to prevent her from seeing this dreadful sight.
Mrs. Allen， the housekeeper， came and took her away. Ames hadarrived， and we ran back into the room once more.”
“But surely I have heard that the drawbridge is kept up allnight.”
“Yes， it was up until I lowered it.”
“Then how could any murderer have got away？ It is out of thequestion！ Mr. Douglas must have shot himself.”
“That was our first idea. But see！” Barker drew aside the curtain，and showed that the long， diamond-paned window was open toits full extent. “And look at this！” He held the lamp down andilluminated a smudge of blood like the mark of a boot-sole uponthe wooden sill. “Someone has stood there in getting out.”
“You mean that someone waded across the moat？”
“Exactly！”
“Then if you were in the room within half a minute of thecrime， he must have been in the water at that very moment.”
“I have not a doubt of it. I wish to heaven that I had rushed tothe window！ But the curtain screened it， as you can see， and so itnever occurred to me. Then I heard the step of Mrs. Douglas， and Icould not let her enter the room. It would have been too horrible.”
“Horrible enough！” said the doctor， looking at the shatteredhead and the terrible marks which surrounded it. “I’ve never seensuch injuries since the Birlstone railway smash.”
“But， I say，” remarked the police sergeant， whose slow， bucoliccommon sense was still pondering the open window. “It’s all verywell your saying that a man escaped by wading this moat， but whatI ask you is， how did he ever get into the house at all if the bridgewas up？”
“Ah， that’s the question，” said Barker.
“At what o’clock was it raised？”
“It was nearly six o’clock，” said Ames， the butler.
“I’ve heard，” said the sergeant， “that it was usually raised atsunset. That would be nearer half-past four than six at this time ofyear.”
“Mrs. Douglas had visitors to tea，” said Ames. “I couldn’t raise ituntil they went. Then I wound it up myself.”
“Then it comes to this，” said the sergeant： “If anyone came fromoutside—IF they did—they must have got in across the bridgebefore six and been in hiding ever since， until Mr. Douglas cameinto the room after eleven.”
“That is so！ Mr. Douglas went round the house every night thelast thing before he turned in to see that the lights were right.
That brought him in here. The man was waiting and shot him.
Then he got away through the window and left his gun behindhim. That’s how I read it； for nothing else will fit the facts.”
The sergeant picked up a card which lay beside the dead man onthe floor. The initials V.V. and under them the number 341 wererudely scrawled in ink upon it.
“What’s this？” he asked， holding it up.
Barker looked at it with curiosity. “I never noticed it before，” hesaid. “The murderer must have left it behind him.”
“V.V. —341. I can make no sense of that.”
The sergeant kept turning it over in his big fingers. “What’s V.V.？
Somebody’s initials， maybe. What have you got there， Dr. Wood？”
It was a good-sized hammer which had been lying on the rug infront of the fireplace—a substantial， workmanlike hammer. CecilBarker pointed to a box of brass-headed nails upon the mantelpiece.
“Mr. Douglas was altering the pictures yesterday，” he said. “I sawhim myself， standing upon that chair and fixing the big pictureabove it. That accounts for the hammer.”
“We’d best put it back on the rug where we found it，” said thesergeant， scratching his puzzled head in his perplexity. “It will wantthe best brains in the force to get to the bottom of this thing. Itwill be a London job before it is finished.” He raised the hand lampand walked slowly round the room. “Hullo！” he cried， excitedly，drawing the window curtain to one side. “What o’clock were thosecurtains drawn？”
“When the lamps were lit，” said the butler. “It would be shortlyafter four.”