“A BIT OF A RISK”
Leaving Russell in the library, Landis went back to the billiard-room
where he found Allen in an easy chair smoking and looking thoughtfully
into the fire.
Allen rose at once and followed him to the drawing-room, sat down with
a slight smile and eyed the two detectives inquiringly. They studied
him in silence for a few seconds as they had studied Russell.
He was of an entirely different type. Though tall, like Russell, he was
slender and wiry rather than muscular. His hair was very dark. His eyes
were quick and sharp and almost black. A small black moustache shadowed
his small firm mouth. He bore himself with an easy grace and had the
smooth brown skin of excellent health. In manner and appearance Allen
conveyed the correct and sophisticated nonchalance of a popular young
bachelor. There was nothing in his face or pose to indicate the trend
of his thoughts.
He gave them his name as Frederick Allen and stated his address in New
York. Anita Harrison and he were old friends, hence his presence in the
house, he explained.
Landis asked much the same questions he had asked the others. Allen
could not tell them who had locked the door at the end of the wing or
closed the door into the library. He had noticed the Japanese bow,
but only in its place across the back of the lay figure. He endorsed
Russell’s statement that they had followed the girls through the
billiard-room to the hall, then turned back to their rooms. He had
not noticed the library door at that time nor seen anything at all
suspicious about the house or in the grounds that day.
At this point Allen crossed his knees and leaned back. Looking down,
Landis noticed a rim of wet earth about the heel of his dress shoe. He
pointed at it.
“You’ve been outdoors since dinner, eh?” he inquired.
Allen glanced down but did not look up again at once. At length he
raised his eyes and nodded.
“Yes, I took a stroll in the sunken garden while you were talking to
Russell. Didn’t realize the ground was so wet.”
“Without a coat? It’s distinctly chilly tonight!”
“Oh, I don’t catch cold at all easily.”
“A bit of a risk, however,” said Landis ambiguously.
Allen contented himself with a nod and a shrug. Bernard remained
studiously silent.
“You went to your room to dress about six-thirty,” said Landis. “When
did you leave it again?”
“I was in my room or my bathroom until some time after the gong rang.”
“Did you see or hear anyone passing along the wing hall during that
time, Mr. Allen?”
“I did not.” The answer was emphatic.
“I see. You are very sure of that, eh?”
Allen’s black eyes bored into the blue ones of his questioner for a
moment.
“Oh, yes. I’m quite sure!”
“Do you happen to know of any quarrel between Harrison and anyone else,
lately?”
“He--he rowed with a lot of people, I fancy.”
“Can you give us a specific instance--or several?”
“He rowed with his brother at meals, shouted at Miss Mount now and
then, rowed both his daughters, too.”
“I see. Did you have a row with him yourself?”
Allen laughed.
“Yes, I believe I did, come to think of it. He was a bit of a tartar,
you know.”
“What was your quarrel about, Mr. Allen?”
“It was hardly a quarrel--just a few words. I happened to need some
ready money for margin and asked him for a small loan. Harrison refused
me with quite unnecessary emphasis. In fact, I told him so. That was
all.”
“Did you hear Susan scream tonight when Harrison was murdered?” asked
Bernard suddenly.
“Of course I did. Who could help hearing it?”
“Where were you at the time you heard the scream?”
“Let’s see. I believe I was in the bathroom.”
“Was the door open into your bedroom at that time?”
Allen looked surprised.
“Why? Why do you ask?”
Bernard smiled slightly and waited.
“I believe it was,” Allen laughed.
“If you heard the scream, why were you so much later than the others to
investigate it, Mr. Allen?”
“Why, I suppose I lack curiosity!”
“You were dressed at the time, then?”
Allen hesitated perceptibly.
“Nearly so,” he answered at last. “I don’t remember exactly.”
“If you were nearly dressed and you lack all curiosity,” purred
Bernard, “why did you investigate the scream at all--so much later than
the others, Mr. Allen?”
Again Allen laughed.
“I believe I was hungry!”
There was a challenging, debonair charm about him of which both
detectives were conscious.
“Was there anyone in the billiard-room when you came through it because
you were hungry?” Bernard inquired politely.
“No, it was deserted.”
“Did you go through the library to the front room?”
Allen shook his head.
“The door into the rear hall was closed at that time. I went through
the front hall.”
“Who did you find in the reception-room?”
“The entire household, except Joel Harrison! I tried to get Anita
to come away and finally led her up to her room. After that I found
Graham in the library and told him I was leaving. He asked me to stay,
so Russell and I had dinner with Mrs. Graham. Then we went to the
billiard-room and stayed there.”
“Except for your walk,” nodded Bernard.
“Except for my walk in the garden,” Allen laughed.
“What is your theory of the murder, Mr. Allen?”
“My theory? I suppose that someone got into the house and shot Harrison
from the far end of the library.”
“Why ‘got into the house,’ Mr. Allen?” Bernard pounced. “Why not
someone in the house?”
“A man like Harrison must have made many enemies,” answered their
witness in surprise. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone here sufficiently
furious at him to kill him!”
“How could anyone get into the house from outside?”
Allen stared and shrugged faintly, smiling at them.
“It seems to me that that’s up to you! But the murderer could have come
through the sunken garden and the billiard-room and escaped again the
same way, if he happened to know the house.”
“Why so he could,” said Landis pleasantly, “if he knew where the bow
was and where Harrison was and how to string the bow and then how to
shoot it, Mr. Allen.”
“That’s quite a lot of ‘ifs’ I’ll admit! But I don’t see who else could
have killed him!”
Landis glanced at Bernard and when the older detective made no sign,
rose slowly to his feet.
“All right,” he said. “We’re much obliged to you. Now we’ll ask you to
wait in the library.”
This time Bernard followed into the hall and waited for Landis to
rejoin him. With one accord they turned toward the back of the
house. Nor was a word spoken between them until they had gained the
billiard-room and shut the door. Then Landis eyed his colleague with a
whimsical smile.
“And now,” he observed, “we have one liar at least!”
“How do you figure that out?” demanded Bernard.
“Of course you don’t know, so I’ll explain,” chuckled Landis. “Graham,
whose word we have no reason to doubt, has told us that Anita had a
row with Harrison over Allen. We can be pretty sure that Allen heard
about that row afterwards, from Anita. If he wants to marry her, the
last thing he would do would be to try to borrow money from her father.
Therefore, he lied about the subject of his row with Harrison!”
“Then what _was_ the subject of his row with Harrison?” inquired
Bernard with mock humility.
“You know as well as I do!” Landis retorted. “He wanted to get the old
man’s reaction before he eloped with Anita--and he got it! Now what do
you think of this stroll in the sunken garden that he told us about?”
“What do you think about it?” chuckled Bernard.
“I have a theory and I’m going to test it.”
“The back stairs?” Bernard suggested mildly.
Landis stared at him.
“Might as well stop trying to steal a march on you!” he grumbled. With
a laugh of good fellowship he retraced his steps, returned presently
with Harley, accompanied the chauffeur to the garage and came back with
a torch. He sent Harley back to the library. He and Bernard passed
through the billiard-room into the sunken garden which Harley had
watered that evening.
The house enclosed the garden on two sides, the billiard-room behind
them and the wing to their right. It was enclosed on the other sides by
a high brick wall. This was pierced by an arched opening opposite the
billiard-room door. A rambling path joined the two.
Landis followed the path, keeping his torch low. In a moment he found a
muddy patch where the path dipped slightly and near the edge of it the
imprint of a heel.
Now he strode through the arched doorway to the path beyond, turned to
the left and made for the kitchen steps, Bernard at his heels. With the
aid of his torch he picked up, on the second step, a moist heel-print.
He glanced triumphantly at Bernard, whose bending face was visible
in the refracted rays of the torch. Bernard felt rather than saw the
glance and chuckled.
“Well, what about the back stairs?”
“Some people are hard to please,” said Landis thoughtfully. But he
entered the back door, turned to the back stairs and began to study the
treads carefully.
Half way to the second floor he pounced upon and showed Bernard a
fragment of wet mud, irregular on three sides, smooth and flat and
slightly concave on the fourth, as though the pile of the carpet had
forced it from the front of a heel.
He found another trace higher up. But on the second flight there was no
mud at all.
Somewhere in the back regions a bell was ringing. Landis hurriedly
retraced his steps to the front hall, followed by Bernard. Here Landis
paused to whisper to his companion.
“Allen had to see Anita to make their stories agree,” he hazarded.
“That’s pretty plain.”
“Or Isabelle or Miss Mount or Joel Harrison--for some other reason!”
teased Bernard. “Either Harley or Joel may have left those traces,
don’t forget! You can’t be sure until you measure them!”
“Huh! Allen sneaked up to talk to someone, while we were questioning
Russell!”
“Maybe!”
The local policeman lumbered out of the library, at the orders of
Sergeant Forbes, to answer the bell. The door opened to admit a man
with a camera, a tripod and a suitcase. Landis advanced to meet him,
held a brief consultation in an undertone and led him into the library.
They came out together, the new arrival carrying the Japanese bow, the
blunted arrow and the shaft of the broken arrow which had pierced the
quiet body in the front room. Bearing them in a gingerly fashion he
vanished into the dining-room opposite. Landis rejoined Bernard.
“Finger-print expert,” he explained. “When we’ve seen the girls and
Joel and cleared the library, he’ll examine the armor and the door and
take photographs. Now what?”
“Anita Harrison!” Bernard suggested grimly.