Dr. Martin and Jimmie MacBride found him about a half hour ago, and called in from Vernon’s store. Doc said he’d blown most of the side of his head off, and apparently it happened sometime early this morning. He was in that blind around to the right from the en of the road, the number 2, I think you fellows call it. Where were you?”

“Number 1. Straight down from the end of the road. But, good God, how’d he do it?”

“I don’t know. Mulholland’s out there now, with the ambulance. Doc said the gun must have been practically in his face when it went off, so I guess he was picking it up by the barrel. Was he still doing any shooting over there when you left?”

“No,” I said. “There was nothing to shoot at. I never saw a duck the whole morning. The only shots I heard were just about daybreak.”

“That would have been before legal opening hour.”

“I know,” I said. “I remember being a little burned about it and wondering who it was. We’re pretty strict about that.”

“It’d have to be Roberts, “because you two were the only ones out there. I’ve talked to everybody else. But did you say shots?”

“That’s right. Two.”

“How close together?”

I thought about it. “It’s hard to say, but probably less than a minute apart.”

“Not like a man trying for a double on a flight of ducks?”

“No. Too far apart for that. They’d have been out of range before he got off the second one. It was more as if he’d knocked down a cripple that started to get up so he had to shoot it again. That’s what I thought it was, actually. A single.”

“Nothing came over you?”

“No. As I said, I didn’t see a duck the whole morning. The chances are they would have flared out over that number 1 blind where I was, because it’s on that point between the two arms of the slough, and even if they’d gone behind me I’d have heard the wings.”

“It’s damn funny, all right. And you never heard anything at all after that?”

“Not a sound.”

“I see. Oh, there’s one more thing. You don’t know anything about his next of kin?”

“No,” I said. “I’m sorry.