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“Haven’t you ever seen suicides before?” Joseph was thinking rapidly. How on earth could he prove the truth he was more and more certain of with every moment? “Where do guns fall after the shock of death? A gun is heavy. If you shoot yourself in the head”—he carried on regardless of Connie’s gasp—“you fall sideways. Does your arm go down as his was, and the gun slither out of your fingers? For that matter, were there any fingerprints on it?”

“Oi dunno, sir,” Perth said sharply. “It was plain it was suicide to me, seeing as you yourself showed us that Sebastian Allard had been blackmailing him into doing all kinds o’ favors for him, things as he wouldn’t do o’ hisself, an’ ruining his name as a professor.”

“Yes, I know that,” Joseph said impatiently. “But I’m talking about proof. Think back on it now, with other possibilities in mind! Was that how a gun would fall?”

“Oi dunno, sir.” Perth looked troubled. “Oi suppose it were a bit . . . awkward. But that ain’t proof of anything. We dunno how he sat, nor what way he moved when he were shot. Begging your pardon, ma’am. Oi’d like to spare your feelings, but you ain’t making it possible.”

“I know that, Inspector,” she said quietly, but her face was ashen.

Joseph’s mind was racing urgently. “Surely, Inspector, if we could prove that the gun was in the bucket at the top of the drainpipe on the master’s roof, that would also prove that Dr. Beecher could not have got it to shoot himself?”

“Yes, sir, it would. But how are we going to prove that? Guns don’t leave nothin’ behind, an’ if it were there, likely it were wrapped in a cloth or something, to keep it from being seen, or getting wet.”

Wet. The idea was like a lightning flare. “We had rain the day Beecher was killed!” Joseph almost shouted the words. “If there was a cloth around the gun, then the whole thing would have blocked the drain! There are barrels at the bottom of the drainpipes in the Fellows’ Garden! If one of them is dry, that’s your proof! And he would choose that side, because the other overlooks the quad, where it was far more exposed.”

Perth stared at him. “Yes, sir, if it’s clear now, Oi’d take that as proof.” He started toward the door, barely waiting for them to follow. “We’d best go an’ look now, before it rains again an’ we’ve lost it all.”

It was a short walk back to St. John’s, and they did not speak as they dodged between pedestrians on the narrow footpaths. It was already getting warmer as the sun beat down on the stone.

They went in through the front gate past Mitchell, who looked startled and unhappy to see Perth again, then across the first quad, through the archway, and across the second. Then, since the gate was locked, as usual, they hurried through the master’s lodgings into the Fellows’ Garden.

Joseph felt his pulse quicken as they passed between the flowers, the perfume of them heavy in the stillness, and stopped in front of the first water barrel.

He glanced at Connie, and she back at him. His mouth was dry.

Perth looked into the barrel. “About a quarter full,” he announced. “Near as Oi can tell.”

Connie reached out and took Joseph’s hand, gripping him hard.

Perth moved to the middle barrel and looked in. He stood still, a little bent.

Connie’s fingers tightened.

Joseph felt his heart pounding.

“It’s dry,” Perth said huskily. He turned to look at Joseph, then Connie. “Better check the last one,” he said softly. “Oi think you’re right, Reverend. In fact, seems like for certain you are.”

“If it’s dry,” Joseph pointed out, “then there was something wrapped around the gun. It might still be there, especially if there’s still no water at all.”

Perth stared at him, then very slowly he turned away and bent to peer up the drainpipe. “Reckon as there is an’ all,” he said, pursing his lips. “Come most o’ the way down. Oi’ll have to see if Oi can get it the rest.”

“Can I help?” Joseph offered.

“No, thank you, sir. Oi’ll do it myself,” Perth insisted. He took his jacket