CHAPTER XXIV
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.