THE BUTLER’S SUITE
There were no front stairs to the third floor, Miss Mount explained.
She led the way to the other end of the hall, toward Anita’s room. Here
a door on the right admitted them to a narrow servants’ hall in which
they mounted an upward flight to emerge, apparently, upon the back
stage of a theatre.
To their left, a row of small dressing-rooms extended toward the front
of the house. To their right, a backdrop of unpainted canvas formed,
with the rear wall, a narrow passage across the rear of the stage.
Miss Mount closed several switches and led them around the end of
the backdrop to show them a small stage proper, brilliantly lighted.
Perhaps thirty feet across, it was broken in the middle near the
backdrop by the chimney which came up through the house from the
billiard-room and Joel Harrison’s bedroom. The attention of the two
detectives focussed on a conventional archery target with the usual
bull’s-eye and four concentric rings about it. From the center out they
were painted gold, red, blue, black and, the outermost, white. The
target faced the front of the stage, its back toward the chimney and
almost against it. The surface was pitted in a few places where arrows
had struck and been withdrawn. There were no indentations in the white
outer ring.
After a brief inspection of the target, Landis and Bernard faced about.
Beyond the raised edge of the stage a room, well lighted and large
enough for a numerous audience, stretched away for at least a hundred
feet toward the front of the house. Dozens of rows of folding seats had
been stacked against the walls to left and right, leaving the floor
space clear. There were flat skylights in the roof but no side windows.
Landis smiled at Miss Mount.
“What are all those doors along the walls down there?”
“The two doors on the left and the two on the right open into
trunk-rooms. They contain boxes, old furniture, costumes, scenery and
things of that sort.”
“What about those two doors at the far end?” Bernard inquired.
“That is the butler’s suite,” replied Miss Mount. “The door on the
left leads to his bedroom, the other to his sitting-room. There is a
bathroom between. His windows, of course, open on the front of the
house and overlook the drive.”
“What’s the point of telling us that?” demanded Bernard suddenly. “Why
drag that in--about the drive?”
A pulse began to throb visibly in Miss Mount’s white, muscular throat.
Her face remained impassive.
“I mentioned it in passing,” she answered. “The suite was probably
placed there so that if the butler happened to be off duty, he could
see from his sitting-room when guests arrived. I believe Stimson kept
an eye on the drive for the return of Mr. Harrison, as he usually came
downstairs at the same time. I had no wish or motive for ‘dragging
it in’! You have a most peculiar way of putting your questions, Mr.
Bernard!”
“Humph!”
Landis caught the eye of his colleague, glanced fleetingly at the
target and made a very slight movement of his head toward the left
of the stage. The cues were so swift and restrained that neither Miss
Mount nor Graham noticed them.
Too wise to act on them at once, Bernard looked slowly about the
big play-room. At last his attention became fixed on a wide passage
which opened off the stage near the front of it, to his left. It
crossed down-stage of the dressing-rooms on that side and led into the
third-floor hall of the wing. He stared at Miss Mount until her glance
met his, then nodded toward the passage, beyond which a single bulb
dimly illuminated the hall.
“Servants’ rooms, I suppose, eh?” he growled. “Who occupies them?”
“The design of this floor of the wing is the same as the other floors,”
answered Miss Mount stiffly. “There is a suite of two bedrooms and a
bath toward the back and a similar suite toward the front. The rear
suite is occupied by Harley, the chauffeur, and his wife, the cook.
Susan Duckworth, the housemaid, and Helen Stokes, who acts as lady’s
maid and housemaid, share the front suite between them.”
“And they’re all down on the first floor,” mused Bernard. “Just show me
their rooms, please!”
Miss Mount clenched her hands at her sides and for a moment Landis
expected an explosion. At the same time it occurred to him that
Bernard, not too obviously, had been leading up to such an explosion.
If it came, it might lay bare hidden things.
But Miss Mount controlled her temper and moved toward the passage.
Bernard stalked after her, the purposeful grimness of his manner
considerably overdone. The old detective was one of those rare souls
who keep their humor to themselves on occasion and are quite content to
enjoy it alone.
When Miss Mount, as a far from gracious Virgil, and Bernard,
overconfident for a Dante, had vanished into the dim regions of the
wing, Landis went back to the target and began a deliberate inspection
of its surface. Presently he passed around it to examine the chimney,
then called to his remaining companion:
“Look here, Graham!”
The young lawyer joined him at once and studied the spot on the
brickwork which Landis indicated. Directly behind the target and on a
level with the gold bull’s-eye the chimney bore a shallow indentation
where some sharp blow had chipped away bits of brick, although the
floor around it showed no trace of these chips.
In the center of the indentation there was a bright, metallic mark.
Graham turned back to the target. Through the bull’s-eye, near the edge
of the gold, he found the hole which Landis had found. Among a few
dents of a similar shape and size this one alone pierced the target.
“Right through and hit the chimney--hard!” Landis observed, “which
explains that Japanese arrow down in the library that we found
blunted--unless there’s some other perfectly natural explanation of
this,” he added with a smile. “Were you up here on Tuesday with the
others?”
“Yes. But I’m pretty sure nobody made that hole then. In fact, I’m
certain. If one of our arrows had gone clean through the target we
would have noticed it!”
“Well, somebody has been shooting pretty hard up here--somebody who
could shoot hard! Look at this hole again. It’s sharply elliptical. The
Japanese arrowheads are the same shape, like small spearheads. The mark
on the chimney would just about fit that blunted arrowhead.”
“Practicing?” ventured the young lawyer in a lower tone. “Practicing!
Good Lord, what a ghastly business!”
“Maybe so--which would make it look very much like an inside job,
Graham! Who’s the best archer here?”
“Joel Harrison. But he’s out of the question! He wouldn’t hurt a fly!
Besides, I doubt if even he could shoot an arrow right through that
target.”
“Can you think of anyone else in the house or the neighborhood able to
shoot very hard?” Landis asked.
Graham shook his head.
“There isn’t anybody that I know of. What a strange thing! Rather
ghastly to think about. I wish this business was over!” He looked at
Landis with a sudden speculative interest. “How cynical you fellows
must get, running into this sort of thing all the time! My cases are
civil ones and some of them are bad enough, though others are just
business. But you must find it hard to keep a clear perspective on
human nature. Murder is so sordid and so--so damned stupid!”
“Agreed,” Landis smiled. “But there’s a difference between suspecting
everyone and condemning everyone unheard! Most of us avoid the last, I
guess.”
The sound of voices drew their eyes to the passage through which Miss
Mount and Bernard were returning. Landis waited for them to draw
nearer, then addressed the angry but stoical hostess of the Harrison
ménage:
“Thanks for showing us round, Miss Mount. Now I wonder whether you’d
mind waiting here with Mr. Graham for just a minute while we glance
through the butler’s suite. We won’t keep you long.”
“Very well,” she answered evenly.
As they walked down the long room toward the front of the house, Landis
darted an inquiring glance sideways at his companion. Bernard caught it.
“Nothing of interest,” he rumbled. “Usual servants’ rooms, stuffy and
commonplace. Couldn’t search, of course. What about the target?”
“Hole clear through it,” confided Landis in an undertone. “There’s a
mark on the chimney beyond like a small caliber bullet. A Japanese
arrow, shot very hard, might have made both and got blunted doing it.
Get the idea of having a look through the butler’s rooms?”
“I believe so,” retorted Bernard dryly. “But we won’t find anything.
Think the man who killed Harrison is a fool?”
“I don’t know yet,” Landis replied in his blandest tone. “But it’s
worth looking. Not even excepting Miss Mount, Stimson had the best
opportunity for trying out that Japanese bow up here without detection.
He belongs up here and he’s in a position to know the exact whereabouts
of everyone in the house at a given time.”
“And he probably can’t shoot for nuts,” growled Bernard. “He’d have to
get the bow up here, too!”
Landis opened a door, felt for and found the switch. A standard lamp
and a desk lamp flashed on together, showing them a pleasant but
slightly austere little sitting-room.
Closing the door behind him, Landis made a bee-line for the
waste-basket, whereupon Bernard laughed at him. The basket was quite
empty. With smooth swiftness they searched the room, looking behind the
books, ransacking the desk, probing the back and sides of the sofa and
the easy chairs. They found nothing of interest and left everything
else as they had found it.
Despite an ironical glance from Bernard, Landis proceeded to the
adjacent bathroom and switched on the light.
A brief inspection here led them to the bedroom beyond. Growling
a little, Bernard tackled the bureau and then the bed. Landis
explored Stimson’s trunk which he found unlocked and then tried the
clothes-closet. Here triumph of a sort awaited him. Bernard had just
finished smoothing the bedclothes when a muffled exclamation from
Landis drew his attention to the clothes-closet. Landis emerged holding
aloft a suit of respectable dark gray. On the extended palm of his
other hand lay a tiny bit of white feather.
“I was looking for bits of brick and found this, sir! It was in the
small pocket of this cutaway. Thought you said we wouldn’t find
anything!”
“My poor old rule of thumb!” retorted Bernard with too ready humility.
He looked at the bit of feather. “Think it will fit?--Because I don’t!”
“Fit that blunted arrow that’s lost just such a bit? I’ll bet you fifty
dollars it will!”
“Not the arrow,” said Bernard, “the case!”
“Of course! Why not?”
“Then I don’t agree!” Bernard chuckled. “If that bit of feather fits
the arrow it’s--interesting. In neither event does it prove anything!”
Landis looked a bit nettled.
“Would you mind telling me why not, sir?”
“Not at all!” Bernard was inwardly delighted at getting a rise out
of his smooth young confrere. “Either Stimson killed Harrison or he
did not kill Harrison! If he did not kill Harrison the bit of feather
proves nothing. If he did kill Harrison and left that bit of feather in
his pocket then he’s a fool. Now, whatever else he is, Stimson is no
fool. Therefore, the bit of feather, while interesting in other ways,
proves nothing at all. Get the idea?”
Recognizing suddenly that he was being snubbed for asking Bernard a
similar question some moments before, Landis nodded reluctantly and
then burst out laughing.
“You’re wiping the floor with everybody tonight, including me,” he
chuckled. “But I don’t care--if you solve the case, sir!”
“You don’t say so!” grumbled Bernard. “Good for you youngsters to be
taken down a peg now and then!”
Landis tucked the feather into his pocket, opened the door into the big
room, paced the length of it and held up the suit for Miss Mount to
see. Bernard watched him from the doorway, a sort of grim affection on
his formidable old face.
“Can you tell me anything about this?” Landis asked. “It belongs to
Stimson, doesn’t it?”
Miss Mount regarded the exhibit with distaste. “Certainly. That is his
morning livery which he wears every day.”
“Thanks!” Landis returned to Bernard, feeling a little less sure of
himself than his manner betrayed.
He restored the livery to its place in the closet, switched off the
bedroom light and again joined Bernard. They marched down the long room
and climbed to the stage.
“I think that’s all we want up here,” said Landis. “Now suppose we go
down to the library again. I have just a few more questions I’d like to
ask you, Miss Mount.”
The lady inclined her head and started for the stairs. Over her
shoulder she uttered a single cool inquiry:
“Did you enjoy the view of the drive?”
“Delightful!” replied Landis gratefully.