rearranged Indian exhibits for years."
"Then you think that the bow we saw behind the tapestry is an Indian
one?"
"Without question."
The detective nodded and left him. One word with the boy, and he would
feel free to go elsewhere.
It proved to be an amusing one. The boy, for all his enthusiasm as a
scout, proved to be so hungry that he was actually doleful. More than
that, he had a ticket for that afternoon's ball game in his pocket and
feared that he would not be let out in time to see it. He therefore was
quick with his answers, which certainly were ingenuous enough. He had
been looking at the model of a ship (which could be seen through an open
door), when he heard a woman cry out as if hurt, from somewhere down the
gallery. He was running to see what it meant when a man came along who
seemed in as great a hurry as himself. But he got there first--and so on
and on, corroborating Correy's story in every particular. He was so
honest (Mr. Gryce had been at great pains to trip him up in one of his
statements and had openly failed) and yet so anxious for the detective to
notice the ticket to the ball game which he held in one hand, that the
old man took pity on him and calling an officer, ordered him to let the
boy out--a concession to youth and innocence he was almost ready to
regret when a woman of uncertain years and irate mien attacked him from
the doorway he had just left, with the loud remark:
"If you let him go, you can let me go too. I was in this room at the same
time he was and know no more about what happened over there than the
dead. I have an appointment downtown of great importance. I shall miss it
if you don't let me go at once."
"Is it of greater importance than the right which this dead girl's
friends have to know by whose careless hands the arrow killing her
was shot?" And without waiting for a reply, which was not readily
forthcoming, Mr. Gryce handed her over to Correy with an injunction to
see that she was given a comfortable seat below and proceeded to finish
up this portion of the building by a search through the three great rooms
extending along the rear.
He found them all empty and without clue of any kind, and satisfied that
his real work lay in front, he returned thither with as much expedition
as old age and rheumatism would admit. Why, in doing so, he went for the
third time through the gallery instead of through rooms J, H and I, he
did not stop to inquire, though afterward he asked that question of
himself more than once. Had he taken this latter course, he might not
have missed--
But that will come later. What we have to do now is to accompany him to
the front of the building, where matters of importance undoubtedly await
him. He had noted, in his previous passage to and fro, that the young man
who had been nearest to the tragedy was in his place before the case of
coins in Section I. This time he noted something more. The young man was
in the selfsame spot, but during this brief interval of waiting, the
passion he evidently cherished for numismatics had reasserted itself, and
he now stood with his eyes bent as eagerly upon the display of coins over
which he hung, as if no shaft of death had crossed the space without and
no young body lay in piteous quiet beyond the separating partition.
It was an exhibition of one of the most curious traits of human nature,
and Mr. Gryce would undoubtedly have expended a few cynical thoughts upon
it if, upon entering the broad front corridor which he had hitherto
avoided, he had not run upon Sweetwater pointing in a meaning way toward
two huge cases which, stacked with medieval arms, occupied one of the
corners.
"Odd couple over there," he whispered as the older detective paused to
listen. "Been watching them for the last five minutes. They pretend to be
looking at some old armor, but they are mighty uneasy and keep glancing
up at the window overhead as if they would like to jump out."
Mr. Gryce indulged in one of his characteristic exclamations. This was
the couple whose queer actions he had noticed on the staircase. "I'll
have a talk with them presently. Anyone in the rooms opposite?"
"Yes, the Curator. He's in Room A, where there are a lot of engravings
waiting to be hung. I guess he was pretty well up to his neck in business
when that fellow Correy set up his shout. And have you noticed that he's
a bit deaf, which is the reason, perhaps, why he was not sooner on the
scene?"
"No, I hadn't noticed. Anyone else at this end?"
"Only the young couple I speak of."
Mr. Gryce gave them a second look. They were by many paces farther from
the pedestal from behind which the bow had been flung back of the
tapestry than would quite fit in with the theory he had formed, and by
means of which he hoped to single out the person who had sent the deadly
arrow. But then, under the stress of fear, people can move very swiftly;
and besides, what guarantee did he have that these poor, frightened
creatures had located themselves with all the honesty the occasion
demanded? According to Sweetwater there was nobody sufficiently near to
notice where they had been at the critical instant, or where they were
now. The student's back was toward them, and the Curator quite out of
sight behind a close-shut door.
With this doubt in his mind, Mr. Gryce started to approach the couple. As
he did so, he observed another curious fact concerning them. They were
neither of them in the place natural to people interested in the contents
of the great cases which they had crossed the hall to examine. Instead of
standing where a full view of these cases could be had, they had
withdrawn so far behind them that they presented the appearance of
persons in hiding. Yet as he drew nearer and noted their youth and
countrified appearance, Mr. Gryce was careful to assume his most benign
deportment and so to modulate his voice as to call up the pink into the
young woman's cheek and the deep red into the man's. What Mr. Gryce said
was this: "You are interested I see in this show of old armor? I don't
wonder. It is very curious. Is this your first visit to the museum?"
The man nodded; the woman lowered her head. Both were self-conscious to a
point painful to see.
"It is a pity your first visit should be spoiled by anything so dreadful
as the accidental death of this young girl. It seems to have frightened
you both very much."
"Yes, yes," muttered the man. "We never saw anybody hurt before."
"Did you know the young lady?"
"Oh, no; oh, no!" they both hastened to cry out in a confused jumble,
after which the man added:
"We--we're from up the river. We don't know anybody in this big town."
As he spoke, he began to edge away from the wall, the girl following.
"Wait!" smiled the detective. "You are getting out of place. You were
looking at the armor when you first heard the hubbub over there?"
Both were silent.
"What were you looking at?"
"I was looking at her, and her was looking at me," stammered the man. "We
were--were talking together here--we didn't notice----"
"Just married, eh?"
"Yesterday noon, sir. How--how did you know?"
"I didn't know; I only guessed. And I think I can guess something
else--what your reason was for stealing into this dark corner."
It was the man who now looked down, and the woman who looked up. In a
pinch of this kind, it is the woman who is the more courageous.
"He was a-kissin' of me, sir," she whispered in a frank but shamefaced
way. "There was no harm in that, was there? We're so fond of one another,
and how could we know that anyone was dying so near?"
"No, there was no harm," Mr. Gryce reluctantly admitted. Caught in an
absurdity amusing enough in its way, he would certainly under less
strenuous circumstances have rather enjoyed his own humiliation. But the
occasion was too serious and his part in it too pronounced for him to
take any pleasure in this misadventure. In the prosecution of so daring
a scheme for locating witnesses if not of discovering the actual user of
the bow, it would not do to fail. He _must_ find the man he sought. If
the Curator--but one glance into the room where that gentleman stood amid
a litter of prints satisfied him that Sweetwater was right as to the
impossibility of getting any information from this quarter. Nor could he
hope, remembering what he had himself seen, that he would succeed any
better with the last person now remaining on this floor--the young man
busy with the coins in No. I.
That he was to be so fortunate as to lay an immediate hand on the person
who had shot the fatal arrow was no longer regarded by him as among the
possibilities. Whoever this person was, he had found a way of escape
which rendered him for the time being safe from discovery. But there was
another possible miscalculation which he felt it his duty to recognize
before he proceeded further in his difficult task. The bow found back of
the tapestry had every appearance of being the one used for the delivery
of the arrow. But was it? Might it not, in some strange and unaccountable
way, have been flung there previous to the present event and by some hand
no longer in the building? Such coincidences have been known, and while
as a rule this old and experienced detective put little confidence in
coincidences of any kind, he had but one thought in mind in approaching
this final witness, which was to get from him some acknowledgment of
having seen, on or about the time of the accident, a movement in the
tapestry behind which this bow lay concealed. If once this fact could
be established, there could be no further question as to the direct
connection between the bow there found and the present crime.
But Mr. Gryce might have spared his pains, so far as this young man was
concerned. He had been so engrossed in his search for a particularly rare
coin, that he had had no eyes for anything beyond. Besides, he was
abnormally nearsighted, not being able, even with his glasses, to
distinguish faces at any distance, much less a movement in a piece of
tapestry.
All of this was discouraging, even if anticipated; but there were still
the people below, some one of whom might have seen what this man had not.
He would go down to them now, but by a course which would incidentally
enlighten him in regard to another matter about which he had some doubts.
In his goings to and fro through the hall, he had passed the open door of
Room H and noted how easily a direct flight could be made through it and
Rooms I and J to the small staircase running down at the rear. Whether or
not this explained the absence of anyone on this floor who by the utmost
stretch of imagination could be held responsible for the accident which
had occurred there, he felt it incumbent upon him to see in how short a
time the escape he still believed in could be made through these rooms.
Timing his steps from the pedestal nearest this end, he found that even
at his slow pace it took but three minutes for him to reach the arcade
leading into the court from the foot of the staircase. A man conscious of
wrong and eager to escape would do it in less; and if, as possibly
happened, he had to wait in the doorway of Room J till Correy and the boy
had cleared the way for him by their joint run into the farther gallery,
he would still have time to be well on his way to the lower floor before
the cry went up which shut off all further egress. Relieved, if not
contented with the prospect this gave of a new clue to his problem, he
reëntered the court and was preparing to renew his investigations when
the arrival of the Coroner put a temporary end to his efforts as well as
to the impatience of the so-called pawns, who were now allowed, one and
all, to leave their posts.
V
THREE WHERE TWO SHOULD BE
It was a good half-hour before Mr. Gryce again found himself in a
position to pursue the line of investigation thus summarily interrupted.
The condition of Mrs. Taylor, which had not been improved by delay,
demanded attention, and it was with a sense of great relief that Mr.
Gryce finally saw her put into a taxi. Her hurried examination by Coroner
Price had elicited nothing new, and of all who had noticed her distraught
air on leaving the building, there was not one, if we except the
detective, but felt convinced that if she had not been of unsound mind
previous to this accident, she certainly had become so since. He still
held to his theory that her story, fantastic and out of character as it
seemed, was true in all its essentials, and that it was the warning she
believed herself to have received of her husband's death, rather than
what had taken place under her eyes, which had caused her such extreme
suffering and temporarily laid her reason low.
With the full approbation of the Coroner, to whom he had explained his
idea, Mr. Gryce began the sifting process by which he hoped to discover
the one witness he wanted.
To subject to further durance such persons as from their position at the
moment of tragedy could have no information to give bearing in any way
upon their investigation was manifestly unfair. The old woman who had
been found in Room A was of this class, and accordingly was allowed to
go, together with such others as had been within twenty feet or more of
the main entrance. These eliminated (it was curious to see how loath
these few chosen ones were to depart, now that the opportunity was given
them), Mr. Gryce settled down to business by asking Mrs. Lynch to come
forward.
She, as you will see by consulting the chart, answered to the person
marked "2." A little, dried-up, eager woman rose from the bench on which
were collected the few people still remaining, and met his inquiring look
with a nervous smile. She, of all the persons moving about on the main
floor at the moment of alarm, had been in the best position for seeing
the flight of the arrow and the fall of the victim in Section II. Had she
seen them? The continued jigging of the small, wiry curls hanging out
from either side of her old-fashioned bonnet would seem to betray an
inner perturbation indicative of some hitherto suppressed information. At
all events Mr. Gryce allowed himself this hope and was most bland and
encouraging in his manner as he showed her the place which had been
assigned her on the chart drawn up by Sweetwater, and asked if the
position given her was correct.
Perhaps a ready reply was too much to expect--women of her stamp not
knowing, as a rule, very much about charts. But when he saw her hasten
to the very spot assigned her by Sweetwater, he took heart and with a
suggestive glance at the gallery intimated that he would be very glad to
hear what she had seen there. Her surprise was evident, much too evident
for his satisfaction. The little curls jigged about more than ever, and
her cheeks grew quite pink as she answered hastily:
"I didn't see anything. I wasn't looking. Did you think I saw anything?"
"I hoped you had," he smiled. "If your eyes had chanced to be turned
toward that end of the gallery----"
"But I was going the other way. My back was to it, not my face--like
this." And wheeling herself about, she showed him that she had been
walking toward the rear of the building rather than advancing toward the
front.
His disappointment was great; but it would have been greater if he had
not realized that under these conditions she was in the precise position
to meet face to face any person emerging into the court from the foot of
the small staircase. If she could tell him of having seen any such
person, and closely enough to be able to give a description of this
person's appearance, then she might prove to be his prime witness, after
all. But she could not satisfy him on this point. She had been on her way
out, and was too busy searching in her bag for her umbrella check to
notice whether there were people about her or not. She had not found it
when the great shout came.
"And then?"
Oh, then she was so frightened and so shocked that everything swam before
her eyes and she nearly fell! Her heart was not a strong one and
sometimes missed a beat or two, and she thought it must have done so
then, for when her head steadied again, she found herself clinging to the
balustrade of the great staircase.
"Then you have nothing whatever to add to what the others have told?"
Her "no," if a shaky one, was decisive, and seeing no reason for
detaining her further, he gave her permission to depart.
Disturbed in his calculations, but not disheartened, Mr. Gryce next
proceeded to interrogate the door-man at this end of the building. From
his position, facing as he did the approach from the small staircase, he
should be able to say, if the old lady could not, whether anyone had
crossed the open strip of court toward which she had been advancing. But
Mr. Gryce found him no more clear-headed on this point than she. He was
the oldest man connected with the museum, and had been very much shaken
up by what had occurred. Really, he could not say whether anyone had
passed across his line of vision at that time or not. All he could be
sure of was that no attempt had been made by anyone to reach the door
after he had been bidden to close it.
So this clue ended like the rest in no thoroughfare. Would he have any
better luck with the subject of his next inquiry? The young lady
tabulated as No. 13 was where she could have seen the upper edge of the
tapestry shake if she had been looking that way; but she was not. She
also was going from instead of toward the point of interest--in other
words, entering and not leaving the room on whose threshold she stood.
Only two men were left from whom he could hope to obtain the important
testimony he was so anxiously seeking: Nos. 10 and 11. He had turned back
toward the bench where they should be awaiting his attention and was
debating whether he would gain more by attacking them singly or together,
when he suddenly became aware of a fact which drove all these small
considerations out of his mind.
According to every calculation and according to the chart, there should
be only these two men on that bench. But he saw _three_. Who was this
third man, and where had he come from?
VI
THE MAN IN THE GALLERY
Beckoning to Sweetwater, Mr. Gryce pointed out this extra man and asked
him if he recognized him as one of the twenty-two he had tabulated.
The answer was a vigorous no. "It's a new face to me. He must have
dropped from the roof or come up through the flooring. He certainly
wasn't anywhere about when I made out my list. He looks a trifle hipped,
eh?"
"Troubled--decidedly troubled."
"You might go a little further and say done up."
"Good-looking, though. Appears to be of foreign birth."
"English, I should say, and just over."
"English, without a doubt. I'll go speak to him; you wait here, but watch
out for the Coroner, and send him my way as soon as he's at leisure."
Then he reapproached the bench, and observing, with the keenness with
which he observed everything without a direct look, that with each step
he took the stranger's confusion increased, he decided to wait till after
he had finished with the others, before he entered upon an inquiry which
might prove not only lengthy but of the first importance.
He was soon very glad that he had done this. He got nothing from Mr.
Simpson; but the questions put to Mr. Turnbull were more productive.
Almost at the first word, this gentleman acknowledged that he had seen
a movement in the great square of tapestry to which Mr. Gryce drew his
attention. He did not know when, or just where he stood at the time,
but he certainly had noticed it shake.
"Can you describe the movement?" asked the gratified detective.
"It swayed out----"
"As if blown by some wind?"
"No, more as if pushed forward by a steady hand."
"Good! And what then?"
"It settled back almost without a quiver."
"Instantly?"
"No, not instantly. A moment or two passed before it fell back into
place."
"This was before the attendant Correy called out his alarm, of course?"
Yes, of course it was before; but how long before, he couldn't say. A
minute--two minutes--five minutes--how could he tell! He had no watch in
hand.
Mr. Gryce thought possibly he might assist the man's memory on this point
but forbore to do so at the time. It was enough for his present purpose
that the necessary link to the establishment of his theory had been
found. No more doubt now that the bow lying in the niche of the doorway
overhead had been the one made use of in this desperate tragedy; and the
way thus cleared for him, he could confidently proceed in his search for
the man who had flung it there. He believed him to be within his reach at
that very moment, but his countenance gave no index to his thought as
reapproaching the young man now sitting all alone on the bench, he halted
before him and pleasantly inquired:
"Do I see you for the first time? I thought we had listed the name of
every person in the building. How is it that we did not get yours?"
The tide of color which instantly flooded the young man's countenance
astonished Mr. Gryce both by its warmth and fullness. If he were as
thin-skinned as this betokened, one should experience but little
difficulty in reaching the heart of his trouble.
With an air of quiet interest Mr. Gryce sat down by the young man's side.
Would this display of friendliness have the effect of restoring some of
his self-possession and giving him the confidence he evidently lacked?
No, the red fled from his cheek, and a ghastly white took its place; but
he showed no other change.
Meantime the detective studied his countenance. It was a good one, but
just now so distorted by suffering that only such as were familiar with
his every look could read his character from his present expression.
Would a more direct question rouse him? Possibly. At all events, Mr.
Gryce decided to make the experiment.
"Will you give me your name?" he asked, "--your name and residence?"
The man he addressed gave a quick start, pulled himself together and made
an attempt to reply.
"My name is Travis. I am an Englishman just off the steamer from
Southampton. My home is in the county of Hertfordshire. I have no
residence here."
"Your hotel, then?"
Another flush--then quickly: "I have not yet chosen one."
This was too surprising for belief. A stranger in town without rooms or
hotel accommodations, making use of the morning hours to visit a museum!
"You must be very much interested in art!" observed his inquisitor a
little dryly.
Again that flush and again the quick-recurring pallor.
"I--I am interested in all things beautiful," he replied at last in
broken tones.
"I see. May I ask where you were when that arrow flew which killed a
young lady visitor? Not in this part of the court, I take it?"
Mr. Travis gave a quick shudder and that was all. The detective waited,
but no other answer came.
"I am told that as she fell she uttered one cry. Did you hear it, Mr.
Travis?"
"It wasn't a cry," was his quick reply. "It was something quite
different, but dreadful, dreadful!"
Mr. Gryce's manner changed.
"Then you did hear it. You were near enough to distinguish between a
scream and a gasp. Where were you, and why weren't you seen by my man
when he went through the building?"
"I--I was kneeling out of sight--too shocked to move. But I grew tired of
that and wanted to go; but on reaching the court, I found the doors
closed. So I came here."
"Kneeling! Where were you kneeling?"
He made a quick gesture in the direction of the galleries.
The detective frowned, perhaps to hide his secret satisfaction.
"Won't you be a little more definite?" he asked; then as the man
continued to hesitate he added, but as yet without any appreciable loss
of kindliness: "Every other person here has been good enough to show us
the exact place he was occupying at that serious moment. I must ask you
to do the same; it is only just."
Was the look this called up one of fear or of simple repugnance? It might
be either; but the detective was disposed to consider it fear.
"Will you lead the way?" he pursued. "I shall be glad to follow."
A glance of extreme reproach; then these words, uttered with painful
intensity:
"You want me to go back there--where I saw--where I can see again--_I
cannot_. I'm not well. I suffer. You will excuse me. You will allow me to
say what I have to say, _here_."
"I'm sorry, but I cannot do that. The others have gone without question
to their places; why should not you?"
"Because----" The word came brokenly and was followed by silence. Then,
seeing the hopelessness of contending with police authority, he cast
another glance of strong repulsion in the direction of the gallery and
started to his feet. Mr. Gryce did the same, and together they crossed
the court. But they got no further at this time than the foot of the
staircase. Coroner Price, by an extra effort which seemed to be called
for by the circumstances, had succeeded in picking up a jury from the
people collected on the street, and entering at this moment, created a
diversion which effectively postponed the detective's examination of his
new witness.
When the opportunity came for resuming it, so much time had elapsed that
Mr. Gryce looked for some decided change in the manner or bearing of the
man who, unfortunately for his purposes, had thus been given a quiet hour
in which to think. Better, much better, for the cause of justice, if he
could have pushed him to the point at once, harried him, as it were, in
hot blood. Now he might find him more difficult.
But when, in company with the Coroner, who now found himself free to
assist him in his hunt for witnesses, he reapproached the Englishman
sitting as before alone on his bench, it was to find him to all
appearance in the same mind in which he had left him. He wore the same
look and followed with the same reluctance when he was made to understand
that the time had now come for him to show just where he was standing
when that arrow was sped on its death-course. And greatly impressed by
this fact, which in a way contradicted all his expectations, Mr. Gryce
trod slowly after, watching with the keenest interest to see whether, on
reaching the top of the steps, this man upon whose testimony so much
depended would turn toward the southern gallery where the girl had
fallen, or toward the northern one, where Correy had found the bow.
It looked as if he were going to the left, for his head turned that way
as he cleared the final step. But his body soon swayed aside in the other
direction, and by the time the old detective had himself reached the
landing, Travis, closely accompanied by the Coroner, had passed through
the first of the three arches leading to that especial section of the
gallery where the concealing tapestry hung.
"The man is honest," was Mr. Gryce's first thought. "He is going to show
us the bow and confess to what was undoubtedly an accident." But Mr.
Gryce felt more or less ready to modify this impromptu conclusion when,
on passing through the arch himself he came upon the young man still
standing in Section VI, with his eyes on the opposite gallery and his
whole frame trembling with emotion.
"Is she--the young lady who was shot--still lying on those cold stones
alone, forsaken and----"
Mr. Gryce knew misery when he saw it. This man had not overstated the
case when he had said "I suffer." But the cause! To what could this
excess of sensibility be attributed? To remorse or to an exaggerated
personal repulsion? It looked like remorse, but that there might be no
doubt as to this, Mr. Gryce hastened to assure the Englishman that on the
departure of the jury the body had been removed to one of the inner
rooms. The relief which this gave to Mr. Travis was evident. He showed no
further reluctance to proceed and was indeed the first of the three to
enter where the great drapery hung, flanked by the two immense vases.
Would he pause before it or hurry by into the broad corridor in front? If
he hurried by, what would become of their now secretly accepted theory?
But he did not hurry by; that is, he did not pass beyond the upper end,
but stopped when he got there and looked back with an air of extreme
deprecation at the two officials.
"Have we arrived?" asked Mr. Gryce, his suspicions all returning, for the
man had stepped aside from the drapery and was standing in a spot
conspicuously open to view even from the lower court.
The Englishman nodded; whereupon Mr. Gryce, approaching to his side,
exclaimed in evident doubt:
"You were standing _here_? When? Not at the moment the young girl fell,
or you would have been seen by some one, if not by everyone, in the
building. I want you to take the exact place you occupied when you first
learned that something had gone wrong in the opposite gallery."
The stranger's distress grew. With a show of indecision scarcely
calculated to inspire confidence in either of the two men watching him,
he moved now here and now there till he finally came to a standstill
close by the pedestal--so close, indeed, to its inner corner that he was
almost in a line with its rear.
"It was here," he declared with a gulp of real feeling. "I am sure I am
right now. I had just stepped out----"
"From behind the tapestry?"
"No." His blank astonishment at the quickness with which he had been
caught up left him staring for a moment at the speaker, before he
added:
"From behind the pedestal. The--the vase, as you see, is a very curious
one. I wanted to look at it from all sides."
Without a word the Coroner slipped past him and entering the narrow space
behind the pedestal took a look up at the vase from his present cramped
position.
As he did this, two things happened: first Sweetwater, who had stolen
upon the scene, possibly at some intimation from Mr. Gryce, took a step
toward them which brought him in alignment with the Englishman, of whose
height in comparison with his own he seemed to take careful note; and
secondly, the sensitive skin of the foreigner flushed red again as he
noticed the Coroner's sarcastic smile, and heard his dry remark:
"One gets a better view here of the opposite gallery than of the vase
perched so high overhead. Had you wished to look at those ladies, without
being seen by them, you could hardly have found a better loophole than
the one made by the curving in of this great vase toward its base." Then
quickly: "You surely took one look their way; that would be only
natural."
The answer Mr. Travis gave was certainly unexpected.
"It was after I came out that I saw them," he stammered. "There were two
ladies, one tall and one very young and slight. The older lady was
stepping toward the front, the other entering from behind. As I looked,
the younger made a dash and ran by the first lady. Then----"
"Proceed, Mr. Travis. Your emotion is very natural; but it is imperative
that we hear all you have to tell us. She ran by the older lady, and
then?"
Still silence. The Englishman appeared to be looking at Coroner Price,
who in speaking emerged from behind the pedestal; but it is doubtful if
he saw him. A tear was in his eye--a tear!
Seeing it, Mr. Gryce felt a movement of compassion, and thinking to help
him, said kindly enough:
"Was it so very dreadful?"
The answer came with great simplicity:
"Yes. One minute she was all life and gaiety; the next she was lying
outstretched on the hard floor."
"And you?"
Again that look of ingenuous surprise.
"I don't remember about myself," he said. "I was thinking too much about
her. I never saw anyone killed before."
"Killed? Why do you say killed? You say you saw her fall, but how did you
know she was killed?"
"I saw the arrow in her breast. As she fell backward, I saw the arrow."
As he uttered these words, the three men watching him perceived the sweat
start out on his forehead, and his eyes take on a glassy stare. It was as
if he were again in gaze upon that image of youthful loveliness falling
to the ground with the arrow of death in her heart. The effect was
strangely moving. To see this event reflected as it were in horror from
this man's consciousness made it appear more real and much more
impressive than when contemplated directly. Why? Had remorse given it its
poignancy? Had it been his own hand which had directed this arrow from
behind the pedestal? If not, why this ghastly display of an emotion so
far beyond what might be expected from the most sentimental of onlookers?
In an endeavor to clear the situation, the Coroner intervened with the
following question:
"Have you ever seen a shot made by a bow and arrow before, Mr. Travis?
Archery-practice, I mean. Or--well, the shooting of wild animals in
India, Africa or elsewhere?"
"Oh, yes. I come from a country where the bow and arrow are used. But I
never shoot. I can only speak of what I have seen others do."
"That is sufficient. You ought to be able to tell, then, from what
direction this arrow came."
"It--it must have come from this side of the gallery. Not from this
section, as you call it, but from some one of the other open places along
here."
"Why not from this one?"
"Because there was nobody here but me," was the simple and seemingly
ingenuous answer.
It gave them an unexpected surprise. Innocence would speak in this
fashion. But then the bow--the bow which was lying not a dozen feet from
where they stood! Nothing could eliminate that bow.
After a short consultation between themselves, which the Englishman
seemed not to notice, the Coroner addressed him with the soothing remark:
"Mr. Travis, you must not misunderstand me. The accident which has
occurred (we will not yet say crime) is of so serious a nature that it is
imperative for us to get at the exact facts. Only yourself and one other
person whom we know can supply them. I allude to the lady you saw, first
in front of and then behind the girl who was shot. Her story has been
told. Yours will doubtless coincide with it. May I ask you, then, to
satisfy us on a point you were in a better position than herself to take
note of. It is this: When the young girl gave that bound forward of which
you both speak, did she make straight for the railing in front, or did
she approach it in a diagonal direction?"
"I do not know. You distress me very much. I was not thinking of anything
like that. Why should I think of anything so immaterial. She came--I saw
her smiling, beaming with joy, a picture of lovely youth--then her arms
went suddenly up and she fell--backward--the arrow showing in her breast.
If I told the story a hundred times, I could not tell it differently."
"We do not wish you to, Mr. Travis. Only there must be somewhere in your
mind a recollection of the angle which her body presented to the railing
as she came forward."
The unhappy man shook his head, at which token of helplessness Mr. Gryce
beckoned to Sweetwater and whispered a few words in his ear. The man
nodded and withdrew, going the length of the gallery, where he
disappeared among the arches, to reappear shortly after in the gallery
opposite. When he reached Section II, Mr. Gryce again addressed the
witness, who, to his surprise and to that of the Coroner as well, had
become reabsorbed in his own thoughts to the entire disregard of what
this movement might portend. It took a sharp word to rouse him.
"I am going to ask you to watch the young man who has just shown himself
on the other side, and tell us to what extent his movements agree with
those made by the young lady prior to her collapse and fall to the
floor."
For an instant indignation robbed the stranger of all utterance. Then he
burst forth:
"You would make a farce of what is so sad and dreadful, and she scarcely
cold! It is dishonoring to the young lady. I cannot look at that young
man--that hideous young man--and think of her and of how she looked and
walked the instant before her death."
The two officials smiled; they could not help it. Sweetwater was
certainly no beauty, and to associate him in any kind of physical
comparison with the dead girl was certainly incongruous. Yet they both
felt that the point just advanced by them should be settled and settled
now while the requisite remembrance was fresh in the mind of this
invaluable witness. But in order to get at what they wanted, some show
of consideration for his feelings was evidently necessary. Police
persistence often defeats its own ends. If he was to be made to do what
they wished, it would have to be through the persuasion of some one
outside the Force. To whom should they appeal? The question answered
itself. Mr. Roberts was approaching from the front, and to him they
turned. Would he use his influence with this stranger?
"He may listen to you," urged the Coroner in the whispered conference
which now followed, "if you explain to him how much patience you and all
the rest of the people in the building have had to exercise in this
unhappy crisis. He seems a good enough fellow, but not in line with our
ideas."
Mr. Roberts, who saw the man for the first time, surveyed him in
astonishment.
"Where was he standing?" he asked.
"Just where you see him now--or so he says."
"He couldn't have been. Some one would have observed him--the woman who
was in the compartment with the stricken girl, or the man studying coins
in the one next to it."
"So it would seem," admitted the Coroner. "But if he were behind the
pedestal----"
"Behind the pedestal!"
"That's where we think he was. But no matter about that now!--we can
explain that to you later. At present all we want is for you to reassure
him."
Not altogether pleased with his task, but seeing no good reason for
declining it, the affable director approached the Englishman, who,
recognizing one of his own social status, seemed to take heart and turn
a willing ear to Mr. Roberts' persuasions. The result was satisfactory.
When the Coroner again called Mr. Travis' attention to Sweetwater
awaiting orders in the opposite gallery he did not refuse to look, though
his whole manner showed how much he was affected by this forced
acquiescence in their plans.
"You will watch the movements of the young man we have placed over
there," the Coroner had said; "and when he strikes a position
corresponding to that taken by the young lady at the moment she was shot,
lift up your hand, thus. I will not ask you to speak."
"But you forget that there is blood on that floor. That man will step in
it. I cannot lend myself to such sacrilege. It is wrong. Let the lady be
buried first."
The outburst was so natural, the horror so unfeigned, that not only the
men he addressed but all within hearing showed the astonishment it
caused.
"One would think you knew the victim of this random shot!" the Coroner
intimated with a fresh and close scrutiny of this very reluctant witness.
"Did you? Was she a friend of yours?"
"No, no!" came in quick disavowal. "No friend. I have never exchanged a
word with her--never."
"Then we will proceed. One cannot consider sensibilities in a case like
this." And he made a signal to Sweetwater, who turned his body this way
and that.
The distressed Englishman watched these movements with slowly dilating
eyes.
"It's the angle we want--the angle at which she presented her body to the
gallery front," explained the relentless official.
A shudder, then the rigidity of fixed attention, broken in another
moment, however, by an impulsive movement and the unexpected question:
"Is it to find the man who did it that you are enacting this horrible
farce?"
Somewhat startled, the Coroner retorted:
"If you object on that account----"
But Mr. Travis as vehemently exclaimed:
"But I don't! I want the man caught. One should not shoot arrows about in
a place where there are beautiful young women. I want him caught and
punished."
As they were all digesting this unexpected avowal, they saw his hand go
up. The Coroner gave a low whistle, and the detective in obedience to it
stood for one instant stock-still--then bent quickly to the floor.
"What is he doing?" cried Mr. Travis.
"Yes, what is he doing?" echoed Mr. Roberts.
"Running a mark about his shoes to fix their exact location," was the
grim response.
VII
"YOU THINK THAT OF ME!"
"We're certainly up against it this time," were the words with which Dr.
Price led the detective down the gallery. "What sort of an opinion can a
man form of a fellow like that? Is he fool or knave?"
Mr. Gryce showed no great alacrity in answering. When he did speak it was
to say:
"We shall have to go into the matter a little more deeply before we can
trust our judgment as to his complete sincerity. But if you want to know
whether I believe him to have loosed the arrow which killed that innocent
child, I am ready from present appearances to say yes. Who else was there
to do it? He and he only was on the spot. But it was a chance action,
without intention or wish to murder. No man, even if he were a fool,
would choose such a place or such a means for murder."
"That's true; but how does it help to call it accident? Accident calls
for a bow in hand, an arrow within reach, an impulse to try one's skill
at a fancied target. Now the arrow--whatever may be said of the bow--was
not within the reach of anyone standing in this gallery. The arrow came
from the wall at the base of which this young woman died. It had to be
brought from there here. That does not look like accident, but crime."
Yet as the Coroner uttered this acknowledgment, he realized as plainly as
Mr. Gryce how many incongruous elements lay in the way of any such
solution of the mystery. If they accepted the foreigner's account of
himself,--which for some reason neither seemed ready to dispute,--into
what a maze of improbabilities it at once led them! A stranger just
off ship! The victim a mere schoolgirl! The weapon such an unusual one as
to be _outré_ beyond belief. Only a madman--But there! Travis had less
the appearance of a lunatic than Mrs. Taylor. It must have been an
accident as Gryce said; and yet--
If there is much virtue in an _if_, there is certainly a modicum
of the same in a _yet_, and the Coroner, in full recognition of this
stumbling-block, remarked with unusual dryness:
"I agree with you that some half-dozen questions are necessary before we
wade deeper into this quagmire. Where shall we go to have it out?"
"The Curator will allow us to use his office. I will see that Mr. Travis
joins us there."
"See that he comes before he has a chance to fall into one of his
reveries."
But quickly as Mr. Gryce worked, he was not speedy enough to prevent the
result mentioned. The man upon whose testimony so much hinged did not
even lift his eyes when brought again into their presence.
The Coroner, in his determination to be satisfied on this point, made
short work of rousing him from his abstraction. With a few leading
questions he secured his attention and then without preamble or apology
asked him with what purpose he had come to America and why he had been so
anxious to visit the museum that he hastened directly to it from the
steamer without making an effort to locate himself in some hotel.
The ease with which this apparently ingenuous stranger had managed to
meet the opening queries of this rough-and-ready official was suddenly
broken. He stammered and turned red and made so many abortive attempts to
reply that the latter grew impatient and finally remarked:
"If the truth will incriminate you, you are quite justified in holding it
back!"
"Incriminate me!" With the repetition of this alarming word, a change of
the most marked character took place in young Travis' manner. "What does
that mean?" he asked. "I am not sure that I understand your use of that
word _incriminate_."
Dr. Price explained himself, to the seeming horror of the startled
Englishman.
"You think that of me!" he cried, "of me, who----"
But here indignation made him speechless, till some feeling stronger
than the one subduing him to silence forced him again into speech, and
he supplemented in broken tones: "I am only a stranger to you and
consequently am willing to pardon your misconception of my character and
the principles by which I regulate my life. I have a horror of crime and
all violence; besides, the young lady--she awakened my deepest admiration
and reverence. I,"--again he stopped; again he burst forth,--"I would
sooner have died myself than seen such angel graces laid low. Let my
emotion be proof of what I say. It was a man of the hardest heart who
killed her."
"It would seem so."
It was the Coroner who spoke. He was nonplussed; and Mr. Gryce no less
so. Never had either of them been confronted by a blinder or more
bewildering case. An incomprehensible crime and a suspect it was
impossible to associate with a deed of blood! There must be some other
explanation of the mournful circumstance they were considering. There had
been twenty or more people in the building, but--and here was the rub--if
the chart which they had drawn up was correct and the calculations which
they had drawn from it were to be depended upon, this man was the only
person who had been in this gallery when the arrow was shot.
With a side glance at Mr. Gryce, who seemed content to remain silent in
the background, Dr. Price turned again to Mr. Travis.
"Your admiration of the young lady must have been as sudden as it was
strong. Or possibly you had seen her before you hid behind the pedestal.
Had you, Mr. Travis? She was a charming child; perhaps you had been
attracted by her beauty before you even entered the galleries."
Instantly the man was another being.
"You are right," he acquiesced with undue alacrity. "I had seen her
crossing the court. Her beauty was heavenly. I am a gentleman, but I
followed her. When she moved, I moved; and when she went upstairs, I
followed her. But I would not offend. I kept behind,--far behind
her,--and when she entered the gallery on one side, I took pains to enter
it on the other. This is how I came to be looking in her direction when
she was struck down. You see, I speak with candor; I open my whole
heart."
Dr. Price, stroking his long beard, eyed the man with a thoughtful air
which changed to one of renewed inquiry. Instead of being convinced by
this outburst, he was conscious of a new and deepening distrust. The
transition from a low state of feeling to one so feverishly eager had
been too sudden. The avidity with which this man just off ship had made
a grasp at the offered explanation had been too marked; it lacked
sincerity and could impose on no one. Of this he seemed himself aware,
for again the ready flush ran from forehead to neck, and with a
deprecatory glance which included the silent detective he vehemently
exclaimed:
"I am poor at a lie. I see that you will have the whole truth. It was on
her account I crossed the ocean. It was by dogging her innocent steps
that I came to the museum this morning. I am a man of means, and I can do
as I please. When I said that I had never exchanged a word with her, I
spoke the truth. I never have; yet my interest in her was profound. I
have never seen any other girl or woman whom I was anxious to make my
wife. I hoped to meet and woo her in this country. I had no opportunity
for doing so in my own. I did not see her till a night or so before she
sailed, and then it was at the theater, where she sat with some friends
in an adjoining box. She talked, and I heard what she said. She was
leaving England. She was going to America to live; and she mentioned the
steamer on which she expected to sail. It may strike you as impetuous,
unnatural in an Englishman, and all that, but next morning I secured my
passage on that same ship. As I have just said, I am my own master and
can do as I please, and I pleased to do that. But for all the opportunity
which a voyage sometimes gives, I did not succeed in making her
acquaintance on shipboard, much as I desired it. I was ill for the first
three days and timorous the rest. I could only watch her moving about the
decks and wait for the happy moment in which I might be able to do her
some service. But that moment never came, and now it never will come."
The mournfulness with which this was uttered seemed genuine. The Coroner
was silenced by it, and it was left to Mr. Gryce to take up the
conversation. This he did with the same show of respect evinced by Dr.
Price.
"We are obliged to you for your confidence," said he. "Of course you can
tell us this young girl's name."
"Angeline--Angeline Willetts. I saw it in the list of passengers."
"What ship?"
"The _Castania_, from Southampton."
"We are greatly obliged to you for this information. It gives us the
much-wanted clue to her identity. Angeline Willetts! Whom was she with?"
"A Madame Duclos, a French lady. I once spoke to _her_."
"You did? And what did you say?"
"I bade her good morning as we were passing on the main-deck stairs. But
she did not answer, and I was not guilty of the impertinence again."
"I see. Such, then, was the situation up to this morning. But since? How
did it happen that a young girl, six hours after landing in this country,
should come to a place like this without a chaperon?"
"I don't know what brought her here; I can only tell you why I came. When
she left the dock, I was standing near enough to hear the orders Madame
Duclos gave on entering a cab. Naturally, mine were the same. I have been
in New York before, and I knew the hotel. If you will consult the
Universal's register for the day, you will find my name in it under hers.
You will understand why I shrank from confessing to this fact before. I
held her in such honor--I was and am so anxious that no shadow should
fall upon her innocence from my poor story of secret and unrecognized
devotion. She knew nothing of what led me to follow every step she took.
I was a witness of her fate, but that is all the connection between us.
I hope you believe me."
It would be difficult not to, in face of his direct gaze, from which all
faltering had now vanished. Yet the matter not being completely thrashed
out, Mr. Gryce felt himself obliged to say in answer to this last:
"We see no reason to doubt your word or your story, Mr. Travis. All that
you have said is possible. But how about your following the young girl
here? How did that come about?"
"That was occasioned by my anxiety for her--an anxiety which seems to
have been only too well-founded."
"How? What?" Both of the officials showed a greatly increased interest.
"Please explain yourself, Mr. Travis. What reason had you for any such
feeling in regard to a person with whom you had held no conversation?
Anything which you saw or heard at the hotel?"
"Yes. I was sitting in the foyer. I knew that the ladies were in the
house, but I had not seen them. I was anxious to do so (see, I am telling
all) and was watching the door of the lift from behind my journal, when
they both stepped out. Miss Willetts was dressed for the street, but
Madame Duclos was not, which seemed very strange to me. But I felt no
concern till I caught some fragments of what Madame said in passing me.
She spoke in French, a language I understand, and she was exclaiming
over her misfortune at not being allowed to accompany her young charge to
whatever place she was going. It was bad, bad, she cried, and she would
not have a moment's peace till her dear Angeline got back. Anxiety of
this kind was natural in a Frenchwoman not accustomed to see a young lady
enter the streets alone; but the force with which she expressed it
betrayed a real alarm--an alarm which communicated itself to me. Where
could this unprotected girl be going, alone and in a hotel cab?
"I could not imagine, and when I saw Madame stop in the middle of her
talk to buy some fresh flowers and pin them to Miss Willetts' corsage, I
got a queer feeling, and flinging my newspaper aside, I strolled to the
door and so out in time to hear Madame's orders to the chauffeur. The
young lady was to be taken to a museum. To a museum, at this early hour!
and alone, alone! Such a proceeding is not at all in accord with French
ideas, and I feared a plot. Though it was far from being my affair, I
determined to make it so; and as soon as I dared, I followed her just as
I had followed her from the dock. But fruitlessly! Not knowing the
danger, how could I avert it? I was in one gallery, she in the other. It
was my evil fate to see her fall, but by whose hand I am as ignorant as
yourselves. _Now_ I have told it all. Will you let me go?"
"Not yet," interposed the Coroner. "There are one or two questions more
which you will undoubtedly answer with the same frankness. Were you
standing in front of the pedestal or behind it when you saw Miss Willetts
fall?"
"I was standing just where I said, somewhere near it in the open
gallery."
This seemed so open to question that the Coroner paused a moment to
recall the exact situation and see if it were possible for a man as
conspicuous in figure as Mr. Travis to have stood thus in full view of
gallery and court, without attracting the attention of anyone in either
place. He found, after a moment's consideration, that it was possible.
Mr. Gryce, for all his efforts and systematic inquiry into the position
which each person had held at or near this time, had been able to find
but one who chanced to be looking in the direction of this gallery, and
he with a limited view which took in only the upper part of the tapestry.
A probe in a fresh direction might reach a more vulnerable spot.
"But you had been behind the pedestal?" Dr. Price suggested.
"Yes"--the quick flush coming again. "My old timidity led me to conceal
myself where I could watch undetected her bright young figure pass from
arch to arch along the opposite gallery. Not till she had got past my
line of view did I step out, and then--then it was to see what I have
already told you--her rush toward the front--the start she gave--the
fall--that cruel arrow! I own that I shrank back into my narrow
hiding-place when I realized that all was at an end--that she was dead."
"Why? You had been witness to a deed of blood--a deed which must have
recalled to you the anxiety expressed by the woman whom you regarded
as the young girl's guardian; and yet you shrank back--out of sight--away
from those who had the right to make inquiries! How do you explain that,
Mr. Travis?"
"I cannot, except that I was so dazed, so stricken, that I was hardly
conscious of what I did. And, sirs, believe me or not, had it not been
for the refuge afforded by that narrow space behind the pedestal, I think
I should have fallen headlong to the floor. When I came again to myself,
which was after some of the confusion had abated, I had only one thought
in mind: to suppress myself and my story lest some shadow should fall
across her sweet purity. Waiting till the attention of the man you had
placed on guard over her body was attracted another way, I slid out and
hastened to the front, where I managed to find a quiet room in which to
sit down and brood again over my misfortune. Forewarned, as you have
said, and on the spot, with every wish to protect her, I had failed to do
so. I fear it will make me mad some day."
Had it made him insane already? Was his story to be trusted? It was full
of incongruities; were they those of a disordered mind? Such had been the
excuse made for Mrs. Taylor when she had been thought guilty of this
attack; why should it not be applied to this man who certainly had given
evidences of not being of the usual type of young Englishman? With a
sidelong look at Mr. Gryce, which that individual perfectly understood,
Dr. Price thanked Mr. Travis for his candor and asked if he could point
out the room in which he had sat while their young man had gone through
the building checking off the position of everybody in it.
To his surprise, the Englishman answered quite simply, "I will try," and
rose when they rose.
The glances exchanged between the other two men were eloquent. Where was
he about to take them? Sweetwater was no fool; how had this man of
marked appearance and generous proportions managed to elude him?
As has happened before, it proved to be easily explainable when once the
conditions were known. The room to which he led them was that on the
upper story marked H on Chart Two. It was devoted, like one or two others
near it, to a line of famous paintings at once the hope and despair of
young girl copyists. The one most favored for this purpose hung just
behind the door "X," which, half-open as they found it, made with the
easel, the canvas upon it and an apron hanging carelessly over all, an
impromptu screen behind which a man crouched in misery on the copyist's
stool might easily remain unnoticed by anyone passing hurriedly by him.
And thus vanished one hindrance to a full belief in young Travis' story.
But a greater one remained. The bow! the bow found behind the tapestry at
the edge of which he had stood in timorous hiding! In the hope that a
shock might startle him into some admission which would give a different
aspect to the case, they now led him back to this place of first
concealment. He was showing strain by this time, and no delay was made to
press their point. Giving the tapestry a pull, the Coroner bade him tell
what he saw behind it.
The answer came with much emotion.
"The bow! The bow which sped the arrow which killed Miss Willetts. I do
not want to see it. It hurts me--hurts me physically. Let me go, I
entreat."
"Mr. Travis," urged the Coroner as they again emerged upon the open
gallery, "you have said that there was no one with you in the section
where you stood. If that was so, how came this bow to be where you have
just seen it?"
A bewildered look, a slow shake of the head and nothing more.
"Did you know it was there? Did you see it thrown there?"
"No, I saw nothing. I am an honest man. You may believe me."
The Coroner scrutinized him closely but not unkindly.
"We shall know before night who handled that bow, Mr. Travis. It carries
its own clue with it."
A gleam of unmistakable joy lighted up the Englishman's features.
"I am glad," he cried. "I am glad."
Coroner Price was a man of experience. He recognized the ring of truth in
the Englishman's tones, and saying no more, led the way from the gallery.
A few minutes later he was on the lower floor. He had a short
conversation with the two doormen; then he proceeded to the telephone and
called up the Universal.
The result was startling.
Asked if the name of Rupert Henry Travis, Hertfordshire, England, was on
their register, the answer was yes.
"The date of his arrival?"
"Early this morning."
"Any other arrivals to-day from the other side?"
"Yes, a Madame Duclos and a Miss Willetts."
The Coroner's tone altered. So much of the stranger's story was true,
then.
"Will you connect me with Madame Duclos. I have important news to give
her. Some woman had better be with her when she receives it."
"I am sorry, but I cannot do this. Madame Duclos has left."
"Left? Gone out, you mean?"
"No, left the hotel. She's been gone about half an hour. The young lady
who came with her has gone out too, but we expect her back."
"You do. And what took the older woman away? What excuse did she give,
and where has she gone?"
"I cannot tell you where she has gone. She left after receiving a
telephone message from some one in town. Came down to the desk looking
extremely distressed, said that she had had bad news and must go at once.
I made out her bill and, at her request, that of the young lady, whom she
said would be called for by a friend on her return to the hotel. These
bills she paid; after that she left the hotel on foot, carrying her own
bag. The young lady has not returned----"
"Enough. The young lady is dead, killed by chance here at the museum. A
plain-clothes man will be with you shortly from Headquarters. Meanwhile
keep your eyes and ears open. If a message comes for either Madame Duclos
or Miss Willetts, notify me here; and if anyone calls, detain the party
at all hazards. That's all; no time to talk."
And now Gryce entered the room. He was accompanied by an inspector. This
was a welcome addition to their force. Coroner Price greeted him with
cordiality:
"You've come in good time, Inspector. The death of this young girl
struck down by an arrow shot by an unknown hand from the opposite side
of the building bids fair to make a greater call on your resources than
on mine. The woman who appears to have acted as companion to Miss
Willetts has fled the hotel where they both took rooms immediately upon
leaving the steamer. Either she has heard of the accident which has
occurred here--and if so, how?--or she's but carrying out some deep-laid
plan which it is highly important for us to know. It looks now like a
premeditated crime."
"With this Englishman involved?"
"I doubt that; I seriously doubt that--don't you, Gryce? A more subtle
head than his planned this strange crime."
"Yes; there can be little doubt about that. Shall I set the boys to work,
Inspector? This Frenchwoman must be found."
"At once--a general alarm. You can get a description of her from the
clerk at the Universal. She must not be allowed to leave town."
Mr. Gryce sat down before the telephone. Coroner Price proceeded to
acquaint the Inspector with such details of the affair as were now known.
The Curator moved restlessly about. Gloom had settled upon the museum. On
only one face was there a smile to be seen, but that was a heavenly one,
irradiating the countenance of her who had passed from the lesser to the
larger world with the joy of earth still warm in her innocent heart.