"I have been practicing with that pistol, if you may call it
that," he remarked, "on cartridges of my own and examining the
marks made by the peculiar hammer. I have studied marks of the gun
which we found on the roof. I have compared them with the marks on
cartridges which we have picked up at the finding of Rena Taylor's
body, at the garage that night of the stupefying bullet, with
bullets such as were aimed at Warrington, with others, both
cartridges and bullets, at various times, and the conclusion is
unescapable."
Who, I asked myself, was the scientific gunman? I knew it was
useless to try to hurry Garrick. First, by a sort of intuition he
had picked him out, then by the evidence of hammer and bullet he
had made it practically certain. But I knew that to his scientific
mind nothing but absolute certainty would suffice.
While I was waiting for him to proceed, he had already begun to
work on some apparatus behind a screen at the end of his office.
Close to the wall at the left was a stereopticon which, as nearly
as I could make out, shot a beam of light through a tube to a
galvanometer about three feet distant.
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