THE SOUND OF RUNNING FEET
They were received in the dining-room, where family and guests were
still assembled, with a mixture of curiosity and barely civil reserve.
Miss Mount saw formally to their wants and Stimson was attentive in his
dignified way. Bernard and Landis managed to endure the frost while
inwardly amused at the damper their presence placed on conversation. Of
them all, only Mrs. Graham had smiled when she said good morning.
The detectives ate their breakfast placidly. Farther advanced with
theirs, the others soon withdrew, Anita and the two young men with
somewhat pointed abruptness. Left alone with them, Miss Mount at once
apologized and departed.
Landis smiled at the butler.
“We can manage nicely, thank you, Stimson.”
The man bowed and vanished into the pantry, a slight smile on his lips.
“Well, what next?” inquired Bernard.
“I’m going to look in on Graham as we promised. Then we’ll--I’ll go
after Miss Mount. I want her confession this morning!” It was clear
that he did not relish the prospect.
“You might wait a bit for that!”
Landis stared.
“Aren’t you satisfied yet?”
“There’s a string or two to tie! Take those gloves for instance--and
the bit of feather in Stimson’s pocket. Think Miss Mount put it there?
Does she strike you as that sort of a woman, Landis!”
“But the evidence! Look at it! There’s the cross-bow, the rope that
lashed it in place, the scratches it made on her table, the strong
thread to run from the trigger out to the nail on the reception-room
window, the window lowered just as the arrow that killed Harrison was
released. The same window lowered when Graham was shot!”
“It certainly is complete!”
Landis shot a glance at Bernard, caught the twinkle of amusement in his
eyes and after a moment of irritation laughed in response.
“All right, sir!” he said. “Be as mysterious as you like! I’m satisfied
to follow this up. I’m going to! But there’s one thing to do first.
We’d better test that blame cross-bow on the target upstairs with one
of those Japanese arrows. If it doesn’t work, my theory goes up in
smoke!”
“I’d hate to see that,” said Bernard with puzzling sincerity. “It’ll
work!”
Landis crossed to the library and after a word to the sergeant to keep
silent about it, abstracted a Japanese arrow and put it under his coat,
hiding as much of it as possible. They went through the billiard-room
and thence to the stairs at the end of the wing without meeting anyone.
In the upper hall the policeman had returned to his post outside
Graham’s door. He told them that Mrs. Graham had joined her husband but
no one else had entered the wing.
Landis stationed the man at the end of the hall where it gave access
to the main building, with orders to allow nobody to enter that way.
Then Bernard went into Miss Mount’s room, purloined the cross-bow
from Joel’s den and returned to the hall with it. They mounted the
staircase at the far end to emerge on the third floor of the wing.
There was little danger of meeting servants up here so late in the
morning and they were satisfied that no one had seen them on the way.
Five minutes later they retraced their steps, Bernard smiling, Landis
triumphant. Although the arrow had protruded a good deal beyond the
end of the stock when they fitted it to the cross-bow, it shot true,
pierced the target and blunted its point on the chimney beyond. That
both murderous arrows had been shot from this cross-bow and from Miss
Mount’s room seemed established beyond a reasonable doubt.
The policeman on guard at the end of the second-floor hall assured them
that no one had tried to pass that way. Bernard restored the cross-bow
to Joel’s den while Landis went down the wing stairs and left the arrow
with the other exhibits under the care of Sergeant Forbes. He rejoined
Bernard outside Graham’s door and ordered the policeman back to his
post there.
“There’s just this about it now,” he whispered. “Since both arrows came
from that cross-bow, no woman in the house is eliminated as a possible
suspect. But--Miss Mount did it!”
Bernard offered no comment whatever.
“Oh, well,” added Landis irritably. “I’m going in to see Graham, now.
Are you coming?”
“Of course I am,” Bernard chuckled.
They found Mrs. Graham perched on her husband’s bed, from which she had
removed the breakfast tray. She smiled up at them.
“Want to talk to Ray alone?” she asked.
“We’d like to, if you don’t mind! Won’t be long!”
She went into her own room at once. The intruders found chairs and sat
down to face Graham’s inquiring regard.
“Think back, Graham,” said Landis. “Can you remember anything to
indicate that a member of this household dislikes you? It doesn’t
matter who it is--anybody at all?”
“Dislikes me? I don’t know that anybody likes us especially! Harrison
wanted us here and so we’ve been accepted. Since his death we’ve been
left pretty well alone by the others. Miss Mount seems to have taken
a shine to Ethel. As to the servants, I don’t know why they should
dislike us!”
“I don’t mean you both. I mean you, personally.”
“Oh! You mean last night?” Graham thought a moment and shook his head.
“We don’t exactly belong here, Ethel and I. But I don’t think anybody
particularly dislikes either of us!”
“What about Miss Mount?”
“Do you mean--? Good night! _Miss Mount?_”
Landis sat back in his chair.
“Here’s what we’ve found,” he said. “You can judge for yourself. Maybe
you can help us.”
Methodically he passed in review the chain of evidence he had assembled
against Miss Mount, stating only the facts and omitting the question of
motive. Graham listened, a shrinking fascination on his sensitive face.
When Landis had finished he leaned back on his pillows with an obvious
effort at composure.
“But _why_?” he demanded huskily. “Why should she kill Harrison
after all these years? What possible reason could she have for trying
to kill me? It’s--it’s unbelievable!”
“Did you know that your wife has a scar on her back?”
Graham frowned.
“I--er--noticed it the night she leaned back on my cigarette. May I ask
how you happen to--?”
“I guessed it was there and Doctor Stanford verified my guess, Graham!
Now listen! Here’s the rest!”
He plunged into a rehash of the evidence connecting Miss Mount with
Ethel Graham and indicating that the two had been cruelly separated by
Harrison. He detailed the events of Thursday which led him to believe
that Miss Mount had discovered, only that day, the trick played upon
her eighteen years before.
“Think of her feelings--her rage and her hatred,” he urged. “More than
one woman has taken the law into her own hands for a less cruel outrage
upon her maternal instinct!”
Staring from one detective to the other, Graham slowly shook his head.
“It doesn’t seem possible! She seems too entirely trustworthy. Your
evidence is amazing. But why should she _leave_ those clues? I’ve
wondered, since last night, whether she could be Ethel’s mother. It’s
possible. But in that case would she commit a _murder_--especially
when it’s all over and Ethel is happy? That would be a worse crime
against Ethel than--the other.”
“There are more bits to consider,” Landis persisted. “Her method leaves
her a perfect alibi--to be facing her victim when he is shot in the
back. We know that she went to her room immediately after the murder,
ostensibly to get a restorative for Isabelle, probably to replace the
cross-bow in Joel’s room and wind up her thread. Why shouldn’t she
leave the rope and thread in her room? She has a perfect alibi! Why
should she ever be suspected? That’s how she’d reason. Now, however,
after our questioning and Bernard’s suspicious attitude, she gets
nervous this morning and while we are searching her room she sends
Susan upstairs to see what we are doing! Luckily, we finished before
Susan arrived!”
“Still it doesn’t make sense,” Graham objected. “Why in the world
should she try to kill me?”
Landis explained his theory that maternal jealousy was the motive for
that. When he had finished Graham looked at Bernard.
“Do _you_ believe that such a motive would influence Miss Mount
when she knows that Ethel and I are happy together?” he asked. “It
seems highly improbable to me!”
“Leave me out of it!” rumbled Bernard. “This isn’t my show, you know.”
“There’s another interesting little fact,” countered Landis smoothly.
“Mrs. Graham found Miss Mount’s door locked last night, right after
the attempt on you. Naturally she would lock it until she had a chance
to get back to her room and clear away that cross-bow and her thread!
Every scrap of evidence fits!”
“Except that scrap of feather in Stimson’s pocket!” chuckled Bernard.
Graham looked at him inquiringly. Landis explained their find and its
source.
“Miss Mount could have planted it,” he added, “when she tried the
cross-bow, just to confuse the trail. She had more opportunity to move
about unobserved than anyone else in the house except Stimson. Why,
you heard someone outside the library windows last night! Miss Mount
has admitted to us that she was outdoors just before dinner. She was
attaching her thread to the reception-room window!”
“It’s all circumstantial,” said Graham. “I doubt whether a jury would
convict on it without a confession.”
“It’s a confession we want, of course. But I’ll bet the grand jury
will indict her on that evidence! I’m surprised at you fellows! It’s
a complete chain of evidence. We found her up and dressed at midnight
last night,” added Landis dryly. “She said she was coming over here
during the night to see how you were resting, Graham!”
The young lawyer checked an involuntary shudder. “My God! If--if you
_are_ right--”
“I’m right!” declared Landis confidently.
Bernard leaned back and drew from his pocket the gloves he had found in
Joel’s room. He had rolled them into a loose ball which he tossed in
his hand until Graham looked at him with interested inquiry.
“Bernard has some theory about those gloves that he won’t spill,”
chuckled Landis. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s just whetting
our curiosity.”
“These gloves,” said Bernard solemnly, “will solve our case for us!”
“That’s a real relief,” retorted Landis with some irony. “Just how do
you figure that out?”
“I’ll tell you.” Bernard smiled with irritating slowness. “There
were no finger-prints. Therefore, gloves were probably worn by the
murderer. If so, why not these, which lay so conveniently at hand near
the cross-bow? Well, gloves leave no finger-prints. But old gloves
like these, worn smooth inside as well as out _may retain distinct
finger-prints on the inside of the glove fingers_--finger-prints
left there by the last wearer who is, let us suppose, the murderer! A
murderer is usually in a sweat of nerves and if his fingers were moist
that would help, see?”
Graham and Landis stared at him incredulously.
“You really mean there’s anything in that?” demanded Landis.
“We’ll see, anyhow. Early this morning I telephoned for your
finger-print expert. They’re Joel’s gloves. If they contain the
finger-prints of someone else, Miss Mount, for example, we have a new
field for inquiry at least!”
“Such as which, sir?” inquired Landis politely.
Bernard flung him a whimsical frown.
“If the finger-prints of anyone except Joel appear,” he explained,
“their owner will have to explain when and how and why she--or he--wore
the gloves. If borrowed, did Joel lend them? Get the idea?”
“You’ll have to have everybody’s finger-prints--”
“Exactly! I expect to have a busy morning before that expert turns up!
About your Miss Mount theory--”
“In which you take no stock!”
“I was going to say that you ought to follow it up as far as you can at
present.”
“How?” asked Landis quickly.
“Well, to test your theory, in which I take at least limited stock,
we ought to reproduce conditions as nearly as possible; lash the
cross-bow, hitch up the thread, run it out to the reception-room
window, pull it nearly taut and then lower the window, don’t you think
so?
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do! I’ll pull the thread from the garden and
you can watch inside to see where the arrow goes. We can station the
police to keep people from blundering in there and getting shot. Of
course it ought to be done at lunch or dinner time, when everybody’s in
the dining-room. We don’t want to put our murderer wise.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Landis admitted. “If it works, Miss Mount
is as good as convicted.”
Bernard nodded. But Graham shrank a little. The cool eagerness of
the younger man to hunt down and hang a woman came home to him as an
attitude vividly merciless and inhuman. He looked at his companions
with new eyes. Landis sensed his change of manner at once and returned
his glance inquiringly. For a moment Graham was at a loss. Then memory
came to his rescue and he changed the subject abruptly.
“There’s one incident I meant to tell you,” he began hesitantly. “I did
a lot of thinking before I got to sleep last night and I remembered
this. It isn’t much more than an impression. But the night Harrison was
killed, I thought I heard the sound of running feet outside my door.
They were swift, light feet--the sort of muffled patter that’s gone
almost before your attention can focus on it.”
“From which end of the hall?” asked Bernard sharply.
“From the far end, I thought, though I couldn’t be sure. They sounded
as if they were going toward the main building.”
“Before the dinner gong sounded or afterwards?”
“Must have been before, Mr. Bernard. It was before I went into the
bathroom and I was in there when the gong sounded, although I didn’t
hear it nor Susan’s scream. Anyhow, the patter of feet stopped suddenly
and I heard a door close. At least, that was the impression I had.”
Bernard leaned forward.
“Whose door? Where?”
“I couldn’t tell. At the time I hardly thought of it, of course. Took
it for granted it was one of the girls. Last night, when I remembered
it, I wondered whether I could have heard Isabelle’s or Anita’s door
close, so far away in the main building, when my own door was shut.
You see, it might have been Miss Mount’s door! The footsteps sounded
like a girl, though, which doesn’t make any sense. I suppose the girls
were in their rooms. And it wasn’t Miss Mount because she must have
been downstairs then. It might have been one of the maids running along
the third-floor hall overhead and closing a door up there. Probably it
doesn’t mean anything but I thought I’d tell you about it.”
Bernard whistled.
“It may mean more than you think!” he said. He rose ponderously. Landis
got up at once. “Anyhow, you were wise to tell us. Thanks! We’ll look
in again and keep you posted. In the meantime, don’t worry! We’ll clear
up this thing today. I can promise you that.”
Half way to the door Bernard turned his head.
“When we pull off that experiment with the cross-bow at lunch or dinner
time we’ll probably have to borrow your guard to make sure nobody
gets into the line of fire. There are three doors to the library and
reception-room and Landis will be watching the arrow. You won’t mind
for those few minutes, will you? You can lock your door on the inside.”
“Oh, no! Don’t worry about me, Mr. Bernard. I’ll be glad to have the
mystery solved. The pain in this arm has made me feel confoundedly
averse to being shot at again!”
As they left the room, Landis smiled back with real sympathy at the
rather wan young lawyer, which served to modify Graham’s opinion of his
cold-bloodedness.
Out in the hall the detectives looked at each other.
“Anita!” rumbled Bernard softly. “She told us she ran through the hall
_after_ the gong sounded and after Susan screamed! She may have
done it, Landis! She knew where Miss Mount would be at that time. Joel
had shown her the cross-bow in his den. She had every opportunity!”
“Her own father!”
“There’s everything to hint that she hated him!”
“Did she shoot Graham, too?” Landis demanded.
“Don’t forget that he was in the library Sunday night and overheard her
quarrel with her father. Maybe she figured that he knew too much about
her affairs. There’s nothing but her word to prove that she was in her
room last night, when Graham was shot! Miss Mount was downstairs as
before. It’s just a step from Anita’s room to Miss Mount’s, where the
shot came from! And this time Graham wasn’t across the hall to hear her
running feet!”
“It’s possible,” Landis admitted thoughtfully. “Anything is possible,
damn it! Only, in that case, the rope makes no sense, nor the thread!”
“Planted, Landis! Planted afterwards! Anita and Allen may have planned
the murder between them. Maybe he told the truth when he said _he_
didn’t shoot Harrison. But he knows who did! He may have suggested the
cross-bow scheme, may have tried it out on the third floor and planted
the bit of feather on Stimson. When the trail got so hot the other
night, they may have taken the precaution to hide the rope and thread
in Miss Mount’s room and make that nail-hole in the reception-room
window. Everybody knows that she was just lowering that window when
Harrison was killed and again when Graham was shot. Anita and Allen
strike me as a pretty shrewd pair--plenty shrewd enough to plant
misleading clues. The cross-bow would leave marks on Miss Mount’s desk
if Anita steadied it on the desk. The marks are in front only. They may
have suggested the rope and thread idea. The girl’s a confirmed liar!”
“Her own father!” repeated Landis dubiously.
“Look at her motive! Harrison might discover their marriage any day and
cut her out of his will!”
“A brand new theory and about as good as the rest,” commented Landis
irritably. “One thing I’m sure of. No murder case proves as confusing
and indefinite as this unless there’s a masterly colored tactician
somewhere in the wood-pile. But your new theory is no _better_
than the others!”
“Maybe not. Anyhow, suppose you get hold of Anita and put her over the
jumps this morning, while I dig up those finger-prints. Take hers while
you’re at it.”
“Whose finger-prints are you going to get?”
“Well, you’ll get Anita’s. Miss Mount’s we have already--and Brent’s!
I’m going after Russell, Allen, Joel, Isabelle and Stimson. Also and
most particularly, I want the impression of Mrs. Graham’s pretty
fingers. Sweet little innocent thing, isn’t she, Landis?”
“For the love of Mike! You don’t suspect _her_!”
Bernard studied him quizzically.
“One never knows!” he said. “Anyhow, I’ll be collecting finger-prints
until the expert gets here. If you’ll take my suggestion, you might
see whether you can trip Anita as to the time she left Allen’s room
and exactly where she was when she heard the scream. She shied at that
question before, if you remember.”
“All right,” agreed Landis.
To his surprise, Bernard flung a big arm around his shoulders.
“Look here,” said the older man gruffly. “Don’t get discouraged. You
don’t like my theories and I don’t like yours. But that just broadens
the field for us both. In the meantime, until we can test your thread
and rope and cross-bow theory, we’ll each follow our own lines as we
planned and see where we get, eh?”
“Done with you!” said Landis, his good humor restored. As always, there
was something contagious about the confidence of his famous colleague.