A QUESTION OF ANGLE
When they reached the lower hall, Bernard went to the library door
and looked in. At the far end the faithful sergeant stood on guard.
Otherwise the room was deserted.
Landis paused at the foot of the stairs, pulling at his lip in a brown
study. Presently an instinct of blind reconnoitering led him to the
drawing-room door. Though flooded with light the room had no occupant.
He crossed the hall to find Bernard brooding in front of the library
fire. Landis passed on to the end of the room and across the lateral
hall to the billiard-room. It was in darkness. Switching on the lights
he found it untenanted.
Returning to the library he noticed that, as on Saturday night, the
shades had not been drawn down and the windows were still lowered a
foot or so from the top. Through the nearest window he could see that
Russell’s room was dark. Closer at hand but on the second floor, Miss
Mount’s drawn shade revealed a light in her room. He moved nearer the
library window and craned his head sideways. All three front windows on
the top floor of the wing showed lights. Evidently Helen and Susan had
retired to the suite they shared.
Landis had already noticed a push-button on Harrison’s desk. Still in a
mood for experiment, he pressed it and caught, in the quiet house, the
sound of a distant buzzer somewhere at the back. Rather to his surprise
he next heard the muffled impact of a swing door closing. Stimson
appeared in the hall doorway, an expression of polite inquiry on his
dark, imperturbable visage.
“You rang, sir?”
“Yes, Stimson. Where is everybody, do you know?”
“Miss Mount and Mr. Joel are in their rooms, I believe. The young
ladies have gone for a drive in their cars with Mr. Allen and Mr.
Russell. The--”
“Oh, they have, have they?” demanded Bernard.
“Yes, sir. The house is not exactly inviting at the present time. Did
you wish us all to remain indoors?” His question was addressed to
Landis.
Accumulated irritation exploded into anger. For an instant Landis saw
red. He smothered his rage and spoke quietly.
“Where did they go, do you know?”
“I don’t, sir. Just for a drive, I think.” Stimson unbent a little.
“They gathered in the billiard-room after you questioned them and I
brought them a drink there. They were all rather quiet, eyeing each
other. These two unexplained attacks have made us all suspicious, sir,
of everyone else in the house. After they had had their drinks, Mr.
Allen spoke up and said it couldn’t go on. He swore he knew nothing
about Mr. Harrison’s murder nor the attempt on Mr. Graham. After that
the others all swore the same thing. Then they made up their minds to
forget it. Miss Anita suggested a drive and away they went.”
“Thanks, Stimson. What about the rest of the household?”
“The Harleys have gone up to bed, sir. So have Susan and Helen. I
remained in the kitchen in case you wanted anything.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” said Landis. “By the way, can you shoot with
a bow and arrow?”
“A little, sir,” said Stimson calmly. “Mr. Joel took me out to the
butts one afternoon, when the rest of the family was not at home. He
showed me how to hold the bow. I seem to have rather a knack for it.”
Bernard reddened with anger, although there was no impudence in the
butler’s tone.
“You’re frank about it,” he growled.
“Yes, sir. I have nothing to hide.”
“Not even that bit of feather from the Japanese arrow that killed
Harrison?” Bernard snapped. “We found it in the clothes you wore that
day!”
Stimson shook his head.
“Not even that, sir! I left it there for you to find--if you looked!”
“Oh, you left it there for us to find, eh?” repeated Bernard with heavy
sarcasm. “Then why didn’t you tell us about it--if you thought we’d
find it anyway?”
“Why should I incriminate myself, sir? No man is called upon to do
that! I found it there the afternoon before the murder and threw it
into the waste basket. After the murder I picked it out of the basket
and put it back in my pocket, feeling it my duty not to interfere with
anything that might be a clue. The rest I left to chance and your
search. You might solve the murder without that bit of feather, which
might save me unpleasant moments--like the present, sir!”
Landis chuckled suddenly.
“Stimson,” he said, “you’re a great fellow! I believe we shall get
on together. Now, as a favor to me, bring that Japanese bow and the
remaining arrows up to the third floor. I want to try an experiment.”
Landis led the way to the back stairs, Bernard close at his heels. The
butler brought up the rear with the Japanese bow and arrows.
“What’s the idea?” whispered Bernard as they mounted. “Think it won’t
pierce the target?”
“I just remembered,” said Landis, lowering his voice, “what Joel
Harrison said about the bow, the first time we questioned him. He said,
‘The design ruins it for distance’! Now a bow that won’t shoot far
won’t shoot hard either. It seemed so obvious that Harrison was killed
with that bow that we hardly questioned it. Wait a minute--” He turned
to Stimson.
“Think you can do it?” he asked.
“Hit the target, sir? I think so.”
“No. I don’t mean that.”
“Pierce the target? I doubt it, sir,” said Stimson.
“You ought to be on the force,” chuckled Landis.
When they reached the third floor, he sent the butler to tell the other
servants that the detectives were trying an experiment and wished them
to remain in their rooms.
When he came back, Stimson took the bow, fitted an arrow to the string,
drew it back until the metal head touched the grip and let fly. The
arrow flew straight and buried its head in the blue ring. Stimson
tried it again, with the same result. The arrow struck and remained
quivering. The sharp head penetrated to about two-thirds the thickness
of the target.
“That the best you can do?” asked Bernard.
Stimson rubbed his wrist gently.
“Yes, sir. You see that I am drawing the bow to the tip of the arrow.
It can’t be drawn farther. One needs a wrist guard and finger guards
for this sort of work. I don’t think anyone could shoot any harder with
it, sir,” he added, “not even an expert.”
“What do you mean by that last?” Bernard demanded.
“Nothing, sir,” replied the butler innocently.
Leaving Bernard on the third floor, Landis and Stimson descended to the
billiard-room. From the lockers they selected the bow which seemed to
them both the strongest and took it up to the third floor.
With this, Stimson managed to shoot hard enough so that the point of
the Japanese arrow could be felt at the back of the target. He drew
a full bow to do it. Inexperienced as they were, the detectives felt
justified in believing that the bow could shoot no harder with that
arrow. Yet much more force would have been required for the arrow
to pass entirely through the target and chip bits of brick from the
chimney beyond.
“Stimson,” said Bernard suddenly, “have you got a skeleton key to the
various bedrooms in the house?”
“No, sir. I believe Miss Mount has one in her room. She would naturally
keep it, sir.”
Bernard stared, then nodded slowly.
“Thank you, Stimson,” said Landis. “Now replace the two bows and the
quiver where you found them and wait for us in the kitchen a while
longer, if you don’t mind. We may need you again. Much obliged.”
“Certainly, sir!” Stimson moved with dignity to the back stairs. They
watched him out of sight. Bernard surprised Landis.
“A queer customer but an honest man,” he said. “There’s venom in our
butler. But it’s all for Harrison. He can’t help us much. I’d like to
know who planted that bit of feather in his livery. So would he!”
“You believe that?” cried Landis.
“Don’t you?”
“Maybe. Either he’s honest or the cleverest rogue I’ve ever had to
corner. He certainly is frank!”
“Come down to Joel’s room,” grunted Bernard. “I’ve got an idea. But I
can’t see what good it is!” he added with a rare flash of humor.
They descended to the second floor, saw that there was still a light
under Miss Mount’s door and knocked softly. She was fully dressed,
although it was close on midnight.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Landis apologised.
“You haven’t disturbed me. I was reading. I thought I’d go in during
the night and see how Mr. Graham was resting. A certain amount of fever
is to be expected with such a wound.”
Bernard stared at her fixedly.
“There’s a policeman on guard outside Graham’s door,” he said. “Until
we find out who attacked Graham, the man will admit nobody who might
have done it. We’d like to go through your bathroom, please.”
“I take your point!” Miss Mount permitted herself a slight, amused
smile. “Pray make yourselves at home.”
They obeyed her, unlocked the bathroom door into the den and entered,
switching on the lights. Bernard closed the door behind them, not too
pointedly. Turning, he directed his companion’s attention to a steel
arquebus which stood in a corner.
“There you are,” he said. “What about that thing? It looks to me as if
it would shoot harder than any bow!”
Landis studied the foot-grip in front, the short, steel bow and the
double-handled windlass back of the trigger catch. From this catch to
the front of the stock, the distance was far too short to accommodate a
three-foot arrow. Nor was there any guide to hold an arrow.
“These cross-bows,” Landis explained, “shoot heavy, short bolts, I
think. They called ’em quarrels. The weapons weren’t built for arrows.
Don’t believe they’d shoot straight.”
Bernard looked disappointed. His glance roved the walls, to light upon
another cross-bow, a wooden one this time, with no foot-grip, a much
longer stock, a gut instead of a steel bow-string, a wooden windlass
and a deep groove along the top of the stock. Like the other, the bow
itself was of steel.
“That would shoot an arrow,” he said. “It has that groove to guide it.”
Landis shook his head.
“Maybe it would shoot one of those Japanese arrows and shoot it hard.
But think of the risk of lugging that thing down to the library door!
He’d have to lug it back upstairs again, don’t forget, with the house
humming about his ears! It isn’t like shooting with a bow that’s
already there and stays there!”
“Look here,” growled Bernard, “I never liked that Japanese bow theory!
How could a man move around in there, get the bow, fit an arrow to it
and wait until Harrison got up, without Harrison seeing him or hearing
him or sensing him there? Harrison had his side face to the end of the
library, not his back! But to creep up to the door, wait your chance
and let fly with that cross-bow from outside the library--that’s
different.”
“The risk of being caught there!” Landis demurred.
Bernard scratched his head.
“That’s the hell of it! On the other hand, your Japanese bow is
definitely out! It couldn’t shoot that hard!”
Landis shrugged his shoulders.
“Maybe somebody had the Japanese bow all wiped and the cross-bow and
a Japanese arrow tucked away behind that couch in the hall back of the
library. But at that it’s a terrible risk to run. Anybody might have
come along through the billiard-room!”
Bernard turned away to the cross-bow, took it down from the wall by
the gut bowstring and carried it to the work-bench, where he lit the
light. Turn it this way and that as he might, to catch the light, not a
finger-mark showed on its polished wooden surface.
“It ought to be covered with finger-prints!” he growled. “There isn’t
one! I tell you, this cross-bow shot the Japanese arrow that killed
Harrison and the one that almost killed Graham!”
Suddenly he crossed the room, replaced the arquebus on its nail and
returned to the workbench. Carelessly flung down at one end of it lay
a pair of doeskin gloves. Bernard picked them up and examined them.
The finger-tips were worn smooth and polished. The soft leather at
the wrist of each glove was torn just below the thumb. The tears were
quite recent. Bernard hesitated, stuffed the gloves into his pocket and
touched Landis on the arm.
“Come on out of this!” he said.
Highly intrigued, Landis followed him through the bathroom, again
apologized to Miss Mount and joined his older companion in the hall.
“What’s the idea?” he asked in a whisper.
“We’re getting warm! These gloves were torn recently, by hands too big
for them! The man who handled the cross-bow and the Japanese bow wore
gloves! We’re getting warm, Landis!”
“I’ve been hot under the collar for some time,” said Landis dubiously.
“Which did he handle?”
“Both! He planted the Japanese bow and used Japanese arrows to fool
us. He shot Harrison with the cross-bow!”
“From where?”
“From the library door!”
“Who did?”
“How do I know?” snorted Bernard. “Joel or Russell or Allen or Stimson!
Any one of them could have hidden the cross-bow in one of those lockers
in the billiard-room or behind that couch in the hall! Any one of them
could have got to that library door. We’ll get the method first and
then the man--or woman!”
Landis shook his head.
“Joel couldn’t, without coming down the front or the back stairs or
going the whole length of both wing halls. In any of those cases
somebody would have seen or heard him.”
“That cross-bow killed Harrison,” Bernard declared.
Landis was silent for several minutes. Abruptly he flung up his head
and chuckled joyously.
“We’re a pair of fools!” he exclaimed. “Come on down to the library!”
Bernard followed him without demur. When he reached the long room,
Landis touched the bell on Harrison’s desk. In a moment the butler
appeared from the hall.
“Stimson,” said Landis, “did Mr. Harrison stoop?”
“Why--er--not as a rule, sir!” declared Stimson. “He carried himself
quite erect, as I remember.”
Landis looked disappointed.
“What do you mean by ‘not as a rule,’ Stimson? Did he ever stoop?”
“Yes, sir. He was a very tall man and had a habit of stooping as he
passed under a chandelier or through a doorway. Why do you ask, if I
may inquire, sir?”
“Just curiosity! Thanks very much, Stimson. That’s all for just now.”
The butler bowed and withdrew. Landis waited until his footsteps died
away toward the back of the hall. Then he hurried to the quiver which
Stimson had restored to its place, drew out an arrow and handed it to
Bernard.
“Now come down to this end where Harrison was shot!”
Bernard followed him, puzzled and growling. At the doorway into the
reception-room, Landis faced away from the library and stood erect.
“Now,” he said, “put the point of the arrow against me where it entered
Harrison and at about the same angle, will you, sir? Got it?”
“Of course I’ve got it,” snorted Bernard and prodded him with it.
“Great jumping--”
“Wait!” cried Landis. “Now, as I stoop and turn a very little, keep the
arrow in the same relative position to my body?”
“It’s done,” said Bernard, “and you’ve got a head on your shoulders,
young man!”
“Hold it there, then!” Landis whirled about, sighted along the arrow
from point to feather vanes, took it and held it and stepped aside.
“Look along it,” he directed in triumph.
Bernard obeyed, the tip of the arrowhead against his nose. Sighting
along the shaft toward the nock, his line of vision led straight
through the open top of the middle library window to the lower edge of
Miss Mount’s drawn shade on the second-floor wing. If her window had
been open, the arrow would have pointed backward into her room.
“And there,” said Landis, “endeth our first real clue!”
“The cross-bow it is!” rapped Bernard, “from Miss Mount’s--”
He broke off, turned and for all his weight sprang lightly to the
hall doorway. Stimson was just disappearing with lithe speed into the
drawing-room opposite. Bernard called him sharply. He reappeared at
once.
“You called, sir!”
“Come here! What were you snooping around for, after we sent you back
to the kitchen? You killed Harrison and had a try at Graham! We’re sure
of it now! You hated Harrison and you shot him!”
Stimson shook his head.
“That is a mistake, sir. I didn’t shoot at either of them,” he answered
calmly.
“Then why were you snooping around?” thundered Bernard.
Stimson glanced, with a shadow of a smile, at Landis, who had joined
his older companion in the doorway.
“Just curiosity, sir!” he quoted softly.
“Curiosity killed the cat!” suggested Landis.
“Yes, sir. So I believe. I must have made more noise than a cat,
however, or Mr. Bernard would not have heard me!”
“You get back to the kitchen and stay there,” ordered Bernard very
quietly.
Stimson turned and went.