AFTER the butler’s denial of guilt in deed, whatever his thought, neither detective spoke for a moment. At length Landis rose to his feet and nodded to Stimson.
“Step this way, will you?” he requested.
Stimson got up with composure and followed his guide toward the sergeant of police.
“Sergeant Forbes,” said Landis, “we are questioning the household one by one. I believe it would be a good idea, after we finish with each, if he or she stayed at this end of the room under your eyes. You understand, don’t you!”
“I do, sir. I’ll see they don’t communicate!”
Landis turned to the butler.
“Wait here, please.”
Stimson sat down without a word.
By the fire, Landis expressed his reaction to the recent interview.
“Psychologically,” he murmured to Bernard, “that was a convincing proof of innocence!” Observing a smile about his companion’s mouth, he added: “either that, or it was a wonderful piece of acting!”
“Motive and opportunity!” replied Bernard quietly. “He hated Harrison. He had plenty of time and opportunity to leave the butler’s pantry, enter the hall back there and shoot Harrison with the Japanese bow. He knew Harrison’s ways, had plenty of chance to study a way to kill him, knew that everyone else here shoots, too, while nobody knows that he can, probably. And who had a better chance to fix that bow in advance? Just let us get one water-tight scrap of evidence! Well, suppose we ring and tackle the next one!”
The next one was Susan Duckworth, for she answered the bell. Landis conducted her across the hall to the drawing-room which proved untenanted. Bernard followed them.
Susan was a pretty girl, of a blue-eyed, pink-and-white type more decorative than efficient. Her cheeks still showed traces of tears and her eyes of nervous excitement.
“Sit down, will you, Susan?” said Landis kindly. “We won’t keep you long. We won’t shout at you either!”
Susan obeyed.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!”
“Now,” he began, “did you dust the library today?”
“Yes, sir, this morning.”
“There’s a Japanese bow at the end of the library. Was it in its usual place when you dusted, Susan?”
“You mean that crooked-looking bow and string that belongs to that creepy figure all covered with scales, sir?”
“Yes, Susan. Was that bow in its usual place?”
“No, sir. Somebody’d moved it. It’s been across the back of that creature before. This morning it was on one end and leaning up against it, sort of.”
“Did you speak of the change to anyone?”
Susan began to wring her hands.
“No, sir!” she gasped. “I didn’t know it was any harm! I thought Mr. Joel had been at it. Oh, sir, it wasn’t my fault!”
“What wasn’t your fault?” inquired Bernard crisply.
Susan turned, wide-eyed.
“If Mr. Harrison was sh-shot with it, sir!” she answered her older inquisitor.
“What made you think Mr. Joel had been at it?”
“Nothing, sir, except the butler mentioned he had been at it once before. Mr. Stimson was speaking of the way Mr. Harrison got mad at Mr. Joel for touching it, sir.”
“When did Stimson speak of that, Susan?”
“Oh, some time ago, sir. Only I remembered it this morning when I saw it had been moved.”
“What makes you think Mr. Harrison was shot with that bow?” inquired Bernard.
“Why, sir, you’ve been asking me about it!”
“Fair enough,” smiled Landis. “Now, Susan, there’s a door at the end of the wing leading out to the garage. Did you lock that door any time this afternoon or this evening?”
“I, lock it, sir? I haven’t touched it!”
“All right. Now several of the household were shooting on the third floor last Tuesday, Susan. Have you heard or seen anyone shooting up there since Tuesday?”
Susan shook her head blankly.
“No, sir!”
“Have you seen that Japanese bow anywhere else in the house except there in the library where it belongs?”
“Why, no, sir!”
“You haven’t seen it lying about or seen anyone carrying it, Susan?”
“No, sir. I’m sure I haven’t!”
“Have you seen anyone touching it in the library?”
“Nobody touches it but me and Mr. Joel once!”
“Did you ever notice how many arrows there were with the bow in the library?”
“Arrows, sir? No, sir, I never noticed.”
“Did you happen to close the door from the library into the back hall any time this afternoon or evening?”
“I’m quite sure I didn’t, sir!” declared Susan.
“Have you seen anyone except the household around the house today, Susan?”
“No, sir. I haven’t.”
“What time did you come down to the kitchen tonight?”
“About six, sir, to help Cook.”
“See anyone about on the way downstairs?”
“No, sir.”
“All right. Now from six o’clock until you took in the cocktails, tell us everybody you saw and where they were.”
Susan looked from one detective to the other.
“Oh, I don’t want to get anybody into trouble!” she wailed.
“Why should you?” inquired Landis. “You didn’t see anything suspicious, did you?”
“Oh, no, sir! Of course I didn’t!”
“All right. Just tell us who you saw.”
“Well, sir, Cook was in the kitchen when I came down. Then Mr. Stimson came down and went through to the pantry. I went through to help him set the table and when I came back Helen was rolling the butter pats. Just then Mr. Harley, the chauffeur, stuck his head in the kitchen and said something to me. He’s always teasing!” Susan tossed her head slightly at this point. “I went back with the butter and finished setting the table. Then I came out to the kitchen and put the rolls in the oven for Cook. Helen wasn’t there any more. And then I took the cocktail glasses into the reception-room, sir.”
“You didn’t see anyone else, Susan?”
“Well, sir, Miss Anita came down the back stairs and went through to the billiard-room.”
“What time was that, Susan?”
“I never noticed, sir!”
“Well, about what time then?”
“It must have been about seven o’clock, sir.”
“Who else did you see, Susan? Think carefully please.”
Susan obeyed.
“Only Miss Mount, sir,” she declared at last. “She came down to the kitchen to speak to Cook. She was in the dining-room to look at the table. When I came through with the cocktail glasses she followed me down the hall to the front room. And then, sir, the thing happened!”
“Didn’t Stimson come in with the cocktails first and didn’t you pour them out, Susan?”
“Yes, sir. We poured them out at the table by the window and I was bringing some of them back on a tray to stand near the hall door with them when Mr. Harrison came into the doorway from the library.”
“Where was Miss Mount then and where was Stimson?”
“Mr. Stimson had gone back to the dining-room and Miss Mount was just closing the side window.”
“Well, exactly what happened?”
“All of a sudden Mr. Harrison turned round and fell. He gave a kind of shout. I screamed and dropped the cocktails and Miss Mount ran to him and lifted him. Then I saw the arrow under him and I just lost my wits.”
“When did you regain them, Susan?” asked Landis.
“I was in the kitchen and somebody was pinching me!”
“Excellent,” said Landis obscurely. “I suppose you don’t remember what happened between, do you?”
“No, sir. I just wasn’t myself!”
“Thank you, Susan.” Landis glanced at Bernard who shook his head. “All right, now step this way, please.”
Susan followed him timidly out of the room. He left her in the sergeant’s charge with orders not to talk, found his way to the kitchen and asked Helen Stokes to stay there and wait his summons. The cook he brought with him to the drawing-room where Bernard was waiting.
Mabel Harley was a stoutish, capable-looking woman with a kind face and steady, rather faded blue eyes. She looked worried and anxious. Landis soon set her at her ease.
Questions similar to those asked Susan developed that Cook had been in the kitchen from a quarter to six until long after the murder. During that time she had seen, in the order named, Mr. Joel, who came in the back door and went up the back stairs; Susan; Stimson; Helen; her own husband; and Miss Mount who came down the back way to speak about the salted almonds. Harley had just stuck his head in and Miss Mount had been in the kitchen for only a minute or so. Helen had gone up to Mrs. Graham about a quarter past seven. Mr. Stimson and Susan were in and out.
She had never seen the Japanese bow in the library nor anywhere else, had heard or seen no one shooting on the third floor except on Tuesday, had not closed the back door of the library nor locked the door at the end of the wing. She had seen no stranger about the premises and had no idea who killed her employer.
Landis harked back a little.
“What time did Mr. Joel come in the back door?” he asked.
“A little before six, I think, sir. He stopped at the kitchen door and said he was tired and was going to bed.”
“Something on his mind, perhaps,” Bernard suggested.
“Maybe he had, sir,” agreed the cook innocently. “I knew he’d forget all about his dinner so I sent Susan up with a tray for him.”
“What time was that, Cook?” asked Landis.
“Just before dinner, sir. About seven-twenty maybe.”
“Where was he then and what was he doing?”
“Susan would know, sir.”
“Thank you, Cook. That’s all then.”
Mabel Harley started and looked from one to the other.
“You surely don’t think poor Mr. Joel had anything to do with the tragedy! He wouldn’t harm a kitten!”
“Mr. Harrison,” grunted Bernard experimentally, “was no kitten, however.”
“Oh, sir, he didn’t! He couldn’t—”
“Come along, Cook,” said Landis kindly and led her, anxious and questioning, to the library. Susan he recalled to the drawing-room where he asked her to sit down.
She obeyed reluctantly, her hands clasped on her breast in obvious trepidation.
“Now, Susan,” said Landis, “why didn’t you tell us that you saw Mr. Joel just before dinner?”
“Oh, sir! I forgot!”
“You did see him, then?”
“Yes, sir! I took up his tray.”
“What time was that and what was he doing?”
“It was just before dinner, sir. Mr. Joel was in bed, reading. I set the tray on the table by the bed. He thanked me and went back to his book.”
“You took his tray up the back stairs, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir.”
“See anyone at all on your way up or down, Susan?”
“No, sir, I didn’t. I didn’t see anyone at all!”
“Thank you, Susan.”
Landis took her back to the library, rang for Helen Stokes and when she appeared, led her into the drawing-room.
Helen proved a more sophisticated and self-possessed type of girl than Susan. She had brown hair, brown eyes, a trim figure and a slightly provocative glance. She took the chair he offered her and faced them with composure.
They questioned her jointly. She had nothing to tell them about the Japanese bow, anyone shooting alone on the third floor, the door at the end of the wing or the door at the back of the library. She had seen no stranger about the premises and had no idea who could have killed her employer. Nor did she seem particularly upset over his death.
Up to seven-fifteen she verified the stories told by the other servants. Then she went upstairs in answer to the bell in Mr. Graham’s room.
“See anyone on your way up?” asked Bernard.
“No, sir. The back stairs and the second-floor halls were quite deserted.”
“Tell us exactly what happened, so far as you know it,” Landis requested, “from the time you entered Mrs. Graham’s room until after the murder, will you, Helen?”
“I’ll do my best, sir! I found Mrs. Graham in a fine flurry, trying to change for dinner and do her hair and so on. She ran into the bathroom to wash while I got out the dress she wanted and the shoes and stockings to go with it.” Helen smiled reminiscently. “Mr. Graham was partly undressed and he was fumbling and swearing over the studs in a clean shirt, I think. The two doors were open between. When he finished that he came into the bathroom and started the bath water. Mrs. Graham came into her room and closed the door. I was finishing her hair when we heard a dreadful scream. Mrs. Graham ran and knocked on the bathroom door and called to her husband. He was splashing about and did not hear her at first, then he shut off the water and asked her what she wanted. She told him about the scream and he told her if she was dressed to go see what it was. He wasn’t alarmed the way we were, but then, he hadn’t heard it.”
“Yes, go on,” said Landis patiently.
“Mrs. Graham finished putting on her dress and we went down the front stairs together. She was frightened and asked me to go with her. We heard Susan carrying on in the reception-room and hurried there. Then we saw poor Mr. Harrison on the floor, Susan in hysterics, Miss Isabelle flat on her back with Mr. Russell bending over her solicitously—”
“You got that out of a book,” said Bernard in a hollow rumble.
Helen started, bridled a little and then laughed.
“Maybe I did, sir! But it’s true!”
“Who else was there?” asked Landis quietly.
“Miss Anita was staring at her father. She looked white and distressed. Presently Mr. Allen hurried in and went to her side—”
“—solicitously,” grumbled Bernard.
Helen laughed and Landis smiled.
“Go on,” he said.
“Then Miss Mount asked Mrs. Graham to go up and call her husband down and she went. I stayed and tried to help with Susan. Mr. Stimson was back with some water and they were working over Miss Isabelle but without success. At last Mr. Russell picked her up in his arms and carried her up to her room. After that Mr. Graham came downstairs with Mrs. Graham and then Mr. Stimson and I took Susan to the kitchen and brought her round.”
“By pinching her?” asked Landis.
Helen showed them a heartless dimple.
“I believe she was pinched, sir! It seemed to work.”
“And after that, Helen?”
“I was busy fixing trays for Miss Mount and the two young ladies and helping Mr. Stimson serve dinner to Mrs. Graham and Mr. Russell and Mr. Allen. Of course we had our own dinner to eat. I’ve been in the kitchen ever since until you sent for me just now.”
“Who cleaned up the broken cocktail glasses in the reception-room?” growled Bernard suddenly.
“Mr. Stimson, sir. Susan wasn’t fit for it with the body lying there and all. She would have gone off again.”
“When did he clean up, do you know?”
“As soon as Susan came to her senses.”
“Was that before the police arrived?”
“Oh, yes, sir. It was before he started serving dinner to Mrs. Graham and the two young gentlemen.”
“Ever hear your employer quarreling with anyone?”
Helen stared, then laughed.
“Plenty of times, sir! He quarreled with almost everyone. Once he bumped into me in the hall and swore at me. I gave him notice at once. So then he tried to kiss me and I slapped his face.”
“You’re still here,” observed Landis.
Helen dimpled faintly.
“Yes, sir, we understood each other after that. He never bothered me again.”
“I understand,” said Landis, “that he seldom had any words with the—er—domestic staff, Helen.”
“He didn’t, sir. Susan was afraid of him but I don’t believe he bothered her—much.”
Landis ignored this inviting topic.
“He quarreled with members of the household though?”
“Oh, yes, sir. He quarreled and argued and jumped on Miss Anita and Miss Mount and his brother, sir, but mostly Mr. Joel. He was always at his brother.”
“Anyone else, Helen?”
The girl thought a moment, tucking away a strand of pretty hair.
“Well, he had a row with a Doctor Stanford, I heard. But I don’t know what it was about. And on Saturday I happened to hear him shouting at Mr. Brent, sir.”
“You mean today?” snapped Bernard.
“No, sir, last Saturday. Mr. Brent was here over the week-end and they talked business in the library a good part of Saturday. Susan couldn’t get in there to dust.”
“What did they do on Sunday?” Bernard asked.
“Let me see, sir.” Helen paused thoughtfully. “I believe Mr. Brent was out shooting with some of the others in the afternoon and Mr. Harrison took Mrs. Graham for a ride.”
“You don’t say so!” grumbled Bernard.