Sherlock Holmes

He's dead.

Yes, Mr. Bartell, the poor fellow was lying there dead with a bullet wound in the heart and a great splash of blood staining the whiteness of his shirt front.

What happened next?

Mr. Chevre, director of the casino, took the distraught widow away from the scene while Holmes and I examined the body closely.

Within a few minutes, we were joined by Inspector Gannivet of the French police.

As we stood there in the moonlight, the sounds of music we heard from the casino.

It was hard to believe that two men had died in that lovely garden since the moon had risen.

Monsieur Holmes, you and Dr. Watson have concluded your examination.

Yes, Inspector Ganniver.

You favor me with your observations.

You say that you are certain that this is not another suicide.

I'm sure of it, Inspector.

Look at the wound.

The bullet entered the body at a direct right angle, whereas a self-inflicted shot is always fired obliquely.

Yes, that is so.

Then you suggest that this man was shot from above as he lay on the ground pretending to be dead.

I'm convinced of it.

Why, monsieur?

Well, for two reasons.

Though it's impossible to be sure without elaborate retest, I'm certain that beneath those bloodstains are stains of red ink.