Curtis at Green Fancy. Why do you think they meant to rob his place?"
"Well," began Barnes drily, "it would seem that his place is the only
one in the neighbourhood that would BEAR robbing. My name is Barnes.
Of course, Mr. O'Dowd, it is mere speculation on my part."
"But who shot the man?" demanded the Irishman. "He certainly wasn't
winged by any one from our place. Wouldn't we have known something
about it if he had attempted to get into the house and was nailed by--
Why, Lord love you, sir, there isn't a soul at Green Fancy who could
shoot a thief if he saw one. This is Mr. De Soto, also a guest at
Green Fancy. He will, I think, bear me out in upsetting your theory."
A second man approached, shaking his head vigorously. He was a thin,
pale man with a singularly scholastic face. Quite an unprepossessing,
unsanguinary person, thought Barnes.
"Mr. Curtis's chauffeur, I think it was, said the killing occurred
just above this house," said he, visibly excited. "Green Fancy is at
least a mile from here, isn't it? You don't shoot burglars a mile from
the place they are planning to rob, do you? Is the man a native of
this community?"
"No," said Barnes, on whom devolved the duties of spokesman.
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