THE BLUNTED ARROW
In the rococo reception-room its recent owner still held the center of
the stage, that dominance now one of arresting tragedy rather than of
personality. He lay flat on his back, limp and motionless, cushioned in
the pile of his own rich carpet. The glare of many bulbs from a gilt
chandelier betrayed without mercy the heavy, self-indulgent, slightly
distorted features. Death had robbed Harrison’s face of its dynamic
vitality without lending it the dignity of peace.
Graham’s admission that everyone in the household could shoot with
a bow and arrow had brought the eyes of Bernard and Landis from the
dead man to the living. Aware of their swift attention, he hastened to
explain.
“You see,” he began, “Mr. Harrison has a brother, Joel Harrison, who’s
not quite--well--he’s unusual!”
“D’you mean he’s crazy?” suggested Bernard.
“No. He’s absent-minded and rather like a child--a sane child. He’ll
devote immense enthusiasm to a fad that most of us would consider
unimportant.” Graham smiled. “You’ll find the same identical symptoms
in middle-aged golfers who are otherwise quite sane!
“Joel Harrison’s latest craze is archery. While not especially kind to
him in other ways, Mr. Harrison must have given him a free hand with
money. The house is full of bows and arrows. There are targets indoors
and out. The two girls shoot very well and so does Miss Mount, who
joins us occasionally. The rest of us have enjoyed the sport for a
change and we’re all fair shots by this time, I guess.”
“You think someone in the house killed Harrison?” asked Landis bluntly.
“I’ve no other reason for thinking so. But the situation struck me as
complicated and delicate. There are several guests. Harrison is the
richest man in the neighborhood. Local respect for him would extend to
his household.”
“What’s this stain on the carpet?” inquired Bernard.
“Susan dropped a tray of cocktails there when Mr. Harrison fell. She’s
one of the housemaids.”
Bernard kneeled laboriously and sniffed at the patch of moisture. He
found a bit of glass, turned it this way and that, then rose with a nod.
“Suppose we look over the ground a little before we see the doctor,”
suggested Landis. “By the way, exactly where was Harrison standing when
he was shot?”
“In the doorway,” said Graham. “He was coming into this room from the
library when he suddenly plunged forward.”
“On his face?”
“I hadn’t thought of that! Perhaps he rolled over.”
“Then his legs wouldn’t point through the doorway as they do! Never
mind. The shot came from the library. We’ll have a look at the library,
I think.”
He glanced at Bernard who nodded in silence.
Leaving the local policeman on guard over it, they stepped past the
body and entered the room from which the arrow had come. It was some
fifty feet long, walled high with books, aglare with ceiling lights as
well as standard and table lamps. The long inner wall to their left was
broken by the double doorway into the hall and then by a fireplace of
vast dimensions in which a log fire burned pallidly beneath the blaze
of lights. Fireplace and chimney above it jutted into the room. Solid
ranks of books lay beyond.
The far end wall was broken in the middle by a door, built to open
outward and to the left. This was not quite closed. Against the end
wall, square platforms about three feet high flanked a low passage to
the door. They were hidden by handsome silk rugs, and from each rose a
suit of armor; that to the left, chivalric; the other, Japanese.
The wall to the right held three windows at balanced intervals. Wide
and high to light the big apartment in the daytime, the nearest two
framed the contrasting darkness of the night outside, while the third
showed a glimpse of the lighted wing, for the shades had not been
lowered. The bottom sashes were closed. The top ones were down a foot
or so, though the October air had grown chilly at twilight.
Opposite the fireplace stood an enormous teakwood desk, its carved
dragons supporting a surface of polished black marble. Landis regarded
it with awe as the ugliest and clumsiest piece of furniture he had
ever seen. A bronze desk-lamp, lighted, disclosed gilded files,
papers clipped together, a small hand telephone on its rest and the
paraphernalia of a working desk. Much of the other furniture was almost
equally heavy and pretentious, if not quite so ugly.
In front of the fire sat a middle-aged man with a short beard and large
ears, drumming on the arms of his chair. He stood up as they drew
nearer and Graham introduced him as Doctor Stanford from the town a
half-mile distant.
The doctor’s rumpled, threadbare suit indicated no stress of calls to
make. Impressed by Bernard’s name, he expressed his willingness to wait
a little longer. Landis, who had been looking absently about, thanked
him and led Bernard and Graham on down the room.
At the far end, the platform on the left supported a suit of golden
armor of the solid, tournament type, the breast-plate and closed visor
each embossed with a crown. Landis veered toward the other platform on
which stood the harness of a Samurai warrior encasing a lay figure.
In contrast with the gold on steel opposite, the woven silk of the
Japanese armor and its lacquered, overlapping scales of papier-mâché
appeared ridiculously light.
Landis was not interested in comparisons. From the shoulders of the
Japanese figure hung a quiver containing three arrows, points downward,
their projecting shafts fletched with short white feathers. Leaning
against the figure, but not attached to it, stood a long, asymmetrical
Japanese bow, strung and taut.
From a chair close at hand a police sergeant had come to his feet.
Graham introduced him as Sergeant Forbes of the local force. The man
saluted and shook hands with both detectives, eyeing Bernard with
veiled interest. If he resented this intrusion from city headquarters,
his terse, matter-of-fact greeting gave no indication of it.
“Seems a difficult case, Sergeant,” observed Landis cordially. “We’re
going to need all the help you can give us.”
Sergeant Forbes flushed a little.
“You can rely on me for that, Lieutenant,” he replied gruffly.
“How long have you been on guard here?”
“I’ve kept that bow under my eye ever since I arrived, about ten
minutes after the murder,” answered the sergeant. “Nobody’s touched it
since I came.”
Landis turned to Graham.
“It wasn’t strung like that as a rule, I suppose?”
“I’m not sure. But it wasn’t where it is now. Miss Mount says it was
slung over the back. She ran in here only a minute or two after Mr.
Harrison was shot. She noticed then that it had been moved.”
“Who’s Miss Mount?” inquired Bernard.
“She used to be governess to Mr. Harrison’s two daughters. Now she’s
hostess, chaperon and housekeeper, so to speak. She was in the
reception-room with Susan when Mr. Harrison fell.”
“Did anyone,” Landis asked, “keep an eye on the bow after Harrison was
shot and before the police arrived?”
Graham nodded doubtfully.
“Part of the time. I didn’t get downstairs until eight or ten minutes
after Mr. Harrison was murdered. I came in here almost at once and
phoned for the doctor and the police from that big desk. While I was
sitting there Miss Mount came in and showed me the bow and told me it
had been moved. From the desk I could see the bow in one direction
and, by turning my head, keep an eye on Mr. Harrison’s body through
the doorway. I sat there until the sergeant and the other policeman
arrived. There was nobody in the room when I got here. No one who came
in after that went near either end of the room up to the time the
sergeant took over the job of watching.”
“Barring the doctor,” Sergeant Forbes volunteered, “there’s been nobody
in this room since I came.”
“Thanks!” said Landis pleasantly.
“Was this end door usually open or closed?” Bernard asked Graham.
“Miss Mount spoke of that, too. It was open until tonight. I can verify
that. I’ve passed it often since I’ve been here and glanced into the
library. The door was always back against the wall in the hall.”
“Uh-huh,” grunted Bernard thoughtfully. He moved between the suits of
armor and pushed the door, his hand close to the hinge, so that it
swung slowly open.
Standing in the doorway he faced the middle of a short, wide hall
running left and right across the end of the library. To his right the
wall containing the doorway in which he stood was, of course, blank.
But turning his head to the left he saw that it extended a little
beyond the end of the library to contain a green baize, swing door. His
sense of topography told him that this door communicated with the front
hall on the near side of the main staircase. The end wall to his left
had a similar green door at right angles to the other. The end wall to
his right was blank. He had expected windows, as it was a continuation
of the long outer wall of the library. Evidently the wing lay beyond.
The near right-hand corner was occupied by a luxurious couch, behind
which rose a marble statue of Cupid and Psyche in a flippant mood.
The other side of the hall contained, from left to right, three wide,
shallow, frosted windows set high in the wall and, at the extreme
right, a heavy, closed door. Through the windows shone a diffused and
greenish light.
Bernard turned to find Graham beside him. Landis had stepped back and
they heard him ask the sergeant to stay in the library and watch the
Japanese bow. When he rejoined them Bernard pointed away to his left.
“What’s beyond that swing door at the end of the hall there?” he asked
Graham.
“That and the swing door on the far side of the main staircase open
into the servants’ hall, I believe, although I’ve never been through
either.”
Bernard indicated the opposite wall. “What’s back of those windows?” he
inquired. “Billiard-room?”
“Yes,” Graham nodded, “through that door.”
Landis had moved away to the left and, after a peep through the little
window it contained, had swung open the door at the end of the hall and
vanished. Now he reappeared and joined them.
“Butler’s pantry opposite,” he told Bernard. “Kitchen farther back.
Narrow hall to the back door. This side of it the cellar stairs go
down. Above them and just beyond this door to the right the back stairs
go up to the second floor. Just beyond this door on the left is another
into the front hall on the far side of the main stairs.”
Bernard grunted an acknowledgment and frowned.
“Billiard-room behind those windows,” he told Landis, abruptly. “Might
have a look at it.”
They crossed the hall diagonally and opened the heavy door to find
themselves in an oak-paneled room parallel to and of the same length as
the hall they had just left. It was pleasantly warm, the air hazy and
fragrant with cigarette- and wood-smoke.
Their entrance failed to interrupt a desultory game of billiards being
played by two young men in evening clothes. Both looked up. The more
slender of the two nodded to Graham, his face in shadow. The other bent
over the table, where the shaded lights revealed him as big and blond
and good-looking. He finished his shot and made it.
Only the lights above the table were switched on, so that a big log
fire at the far end cast dancing shadows on the walls and ceiling. It
burned in a fireplace of rough stone flanked by deep leather chairs.
The far side wall contained three windows hidden by lowered shades.
Low, built-in wooden seats, upholstered with dark green, leather
cushions ran along each side of the room, with billiard-racks above
them and between the windows.
Another closed door faced the one through which they had entered. A
pace or two distant, the middle of the end wall to their right was
pierced by a generous archway. Heavy, drawn curtains concealed what lay
beyond.
Landis nodded toward the opposite door. “Where does that go?” he asked
Graham.
“It opens on a small porch and a flight of steps to the sunken garden.
The lower hall of the guest wing lies through the arch here.”
With a humorous glance at his impassive companion Landis parted the
curtains and they stepped through to find themselves looking down a
long hall at right angles to the library. Landis dropped the curtains
behind him. In the billiard-room, the two young men exchanged glances
and went on with their game.
The hall which the detectives now faced was richly carpeted. Six doors
opened into it, three on the left, one at the end and two on the right.
All six were closed.
“Help!” Landis grumbled. “This place is like a hotel! Well, what are
all these rooms?”
Graham’s nervous answering smile acknowledged, almost gratefully, this
human touch of exasperation.
“They’re bachelor guest rooms,” he explained, “two on each side with a
bath between. That door at the end leads outdoors to the garage. We use
this hall a lot coming in and out.”
“Anybody using the rooms?” asked Bernard dryly.
“Those two chaps in the billiard-room are quartered here. Russell,
the big fellow, has the far room on the right, facing the front of
the house. Allen has the far one on the left. The nearer rooms are
unoccupied so far as I know.”
“What’s the extra door down there?” Landis cut in.
“I’ve no idea. It might be a linen-closet--”
Landis was off down the hall. He opened the last door on the left, shut
it again and groaned as he rejoined them. “Another flight of stairs!
Opens into the hall above this one, I suppose?”
“Never knew it was there!” said Graham in surprise. “Come to think
of it, I believe there is a third door on the left upstairs. We’re
billeted up there. It’s probably meant for the servants.”
Landis nodded absently. “Well,” he said, “suppose we go back and
interview that doctor.”
“Just a minute,” rapped Bernard. He walked heavily toward the end of
the hall and tried the door there. It was locked, and his big fingers
found the key on the inside.
“Thought you used this hall a lot!” he growled as he came back. “It’s
only a bit after ten and the door’s locked!”
“That’s funny,” said Graham. “It’s never locked until midnight as a
rule--later, if we’re all out.”
“Well, it’s locked now.”
“Wait a minute!” Graham paused to think.
“We all came through that door before dinner tonight,” he declared at
last, “that is, the six of us. I dropped behind with my wife. And I
held the door open for her! I’m sure of that! Look here, I was the last
one through that door before dinner--I mean, when we came home--and I’m
certain I didn’t lock it after me!”
“That’s something! Suppose the butler locked it?”
“I don’t know why he should--unless after Mr. Harrison was murdered!”
“The stable door,” said Landis. “Well, that can wait, I guess.” He
looked at Bernard. “Nice layout, isn’t it, sir? The wing must connect
with the main building upstairs. So there’s at least one route for any
person in the house to get from any room in the house to that Japanese
bow without being seen from the front hall or the library!”
“Looks that way,” agreed Bernard shortly. “Suppose we have a look at
the body now.”
Passing through the billiard-room, Landis tried the door to the sunken
garden and found it unlocked. The two players looked up again but made
no remark. In the hall beyond, Graham gave vent to a mirthless laugh.
“Of course those fellows wanted to leave after such a tragedy,” he
grumbled, “and of course I had to ask them to stay! It’s a pleasant
atmosphere here, with everybody suspecting everybody else in the house!”
“Would there be anyone in the billiard-room just at dinner time?”
Landis asked him.
“It’s hard to say. Somebody might come down early and play a bit.”
“If they didn’t, it would be just as easy for anybody to get to this
end of the library from outside the house altogether! The door into the
sunken garden wasn’t locked, unless someone has unlocked it since the
murder.”
“It probably wouldn’t be locked before dinner,” Graham told them.
Landis nodded and led his companions into the library where they found
Sergeant Forbes still on guard by the Japanese armor and the doctor
pacing slowly up and down in front of the fire. Landis paused between
the two platforms and stared down the long room toward the doorway
where Harrison had been shot. Nothing interrupted his view of it.
Bernard came to a halt, following the glance of the younger man, a
half-smile twitching at his grim lips. Graham stopped also and looked
from one detective to the other.
Abruptly Landis took out his handkerchief, turned to the Japanese
quiver and, without touching them with his hands, carefully withdrew
the arrows it contained. He laid them gently across his coat sleeve,
examined them at close quarters and beckoned his companions.
The warhead of one of the arrows was badly blunted. At the other end of
this arrow a tiny bit of feather had been ripped off close to the shaft
and was missing.
Bernard looked and smiled. “Score one to you, perhaps!” he rumbled.
“That’s first-class reasoning!”
Landis laid the damaged arrow near the bow and restored the others to
the quiver. Then he walked to the big desk, sat down and put through
a call to the city. Bernard and Graham joined the doctor by the fire,
where they heard Landis urging someone to come at once.
“Look here,” Graham murmured to Bernard, “how in the world could he
guess that one of those arrows was blunted? And what does it go to
prove?”
“Second question first,” answered Bernard, smiling. “I don’t know what
it will prove. As to his guess, it’s a fairly long shot down the room.
If anybody planned to shoot Harrison from back there by the door, he
might want to make sure he could shoot straight with that bow and one
of those arrows. So he might find or make an opportunity to test his
skill with them--somewhere else. But an arrow is pretty big to hide
successfully. His practice arrow might be missed. Therefore, he might
restore it to the quiver and hope no one would notice it. It was good
reasoning and probably correct. That arrowhead was blunted recently.
It’s still shiny.”
Graham looked his astonishment. “Great guns! I knew you fellows were
keen--but--
“On the other hand,” he digressed suddenly, “why should anybody shoot
down the whole length of the room at Mr. Harrison? Why not slip in the
door there and shoot him at his desk? He was sitting there just before
he was killed.”
“How do you know that?”
“Miss Mount came in and spoke to him a few minutes before the gong
sounded.”
“We-ell,” drawled Bernard, “a man at a desk and sideways on is no
easy target for a fatal shot with an arrow. Perhaps Harrison knew the
murderer by sight. If the first arrow merely wounded him--and there’d
be no time for a second--he might turn his head and recognize his
assailant--from the desk. On the other hand, if Harrison reached the
far end of the room and had his back turned, the murderer had a better
chance to slip out again unseen, supposing his shot failed to kill. Do
you get the idea?”
“Since you’ve explained it, I do,” nodded Graham with a laugh.
Landis hung up the receiver and joined them.
“Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Doctor!” he said cheerfully. “Now,
let’s have a look at the body.”