There was a tragedy at one of the camps. Detective F was told of the accident by Wylie, the victim’s companion.“When Moore hadn’t returned to camp at nine o’clock last night, I was a bit worried, because he didn’t know these mountains. There wasn’t a star out and it was dark and moonless, so I decided to look around for him. We’re five miles from anyone, you know.” “ Putting more wood on the fire, I set out. After searching for an hour I was coming up the slope of a ravine when I saw a pair of eyes shining at me. “ Calling twice, and getting no answer, I fired, thinking it was a mountain lion. Imagine my horror when I reach the spot, struck a match, and saw I had nearly blown of Moore’s head. A terrible experience!“I carried him back to camp and then walked to the nearest house to report the accident.” “ How far from camp did you find him?” “ About a quarter of a mile.” “ How did you manage to shoot with your right hand bandaged?” “ Oh—I use either hand.” “ Mind if I look at the gun?” “ Not at all.” Wylie handed it over “ hmmmm. European make. Had it long?” “ No. It’s rather new.” “ Why did you deliberately murder Moore?” F abruptly demanded, “For that’s what you did!”How did he know?