CHAPTER V
“A SOMEWHAT POMPOUS MAN”
WHEN Graham returned with Miss Mount and introduced them to her, Landis rose and acknowledged the honor with his most pleasant manner. Brent and Bernard got more slowly to their feet, Brent contenting himself with a brief bow while Bernard bade her good evening gruffly, his words accompanied by a penetrating regard that contrived to avoid offense.
Miss Mount was of the type described by the Victorians as “a fine figure of a woman.” That is, she was well developed but slender of shoulder and waist. Her skin possessed the smooth rich pallor that can lack color without appearing colorless. She had very handsome, mordant brown eyes and a wealth of dark hair. A firm, immobile mouth and chin and a slightly heavy though well-modeled nose indicated unusual force of character, attesting the message of her eyes. The average person would have guessed her to be in the late thirties. A woman, a lover of women, or an experienced old detective like Bernard would have added five years more and been correct.
The men stood waiting in silence while she sat down at one end of the long couch which faced the fire. Her manner as she crossed her knees and smoothed her unfashionably long skirt indicated entire composure and a certain reserve. Studying her unobtrusively, Landis recalled a beautiful, muscular cougar he had once seen on the limb of a tree, heavy-lidded, relaxed and—highly potential.
“Miss Mount,” he said, “Mr. Graham, here, has told us what he knows of the murder. Mr. Bernard and I would like to have you tell us your impressions, if you please.”
She turned her head slightly to look at him.
“Where would you like me to begin?”
“Where you please! Tell us anything and everything that you consider might be pertinent. Then we can interrupt you when it seems necessary.”
“Very well. Let me see. Mr. Harrison had Harley, our gardener and chauffeur, drive him into town after breakfast this morning. He did not—”
“Just a minute,” Bernard interrupted. “Did he go to town every day?”
“He did not return to lunch,” Miss Mount concluded her sentence. “No, he goes in only once or twice a week since he retired from business.”
“When was that?”
“A little over a year ago.”
“Do you know where he went today?”
Miss Mount hesitated perceptibly. “No, I do not.”
“Can you guess?” Bernard persisted.
“Do you want guesses?”
“I want answers,” he told her quietly.
“I prefer not to guess, Mr. Bernard.”
There was a brief, electric silence into which the modulated voice of Landis smoothly inserted itself. “Please continue your story, Miss Mount,” he requested.
She turned to look at Landis, a faintly speculative gleam in her eyes. He was all courteous attention.
“Very well. After lunch the young people went off in the two roadsters to the yacht club and I occupied myself with household affairs and some sewing.”
“Where was Mr. Harrison’s brother, Joel?” inquired Bernard as quietly as before.
“I believe he was out almost all day. He sometimes goes for long rambles and stays away for lunch.”
Bernard nodded in a slow, noncommittal way.
“Mr. Harrison,” continued Miss Mount, “returned a little after six and went to his room as usual, I suppose.”
“Didn’t you see him?” asked Landis.
“No. I was in my room in the wing. But my windows face the front of the house and I saw Harley drive the town car around to the garage at the end of the wing.”
“What makes you suppose that he went to his room?” asked Bernard bluntly. “Isn’t that a guess?”
Miss Mount smiled a little. “No, it is a deduction and quite an obvious one, Mr. Bernard. Mr. Harrison was a man of extremely regular habits. While in business, and since he retired, it has been his custom to return from town about a quarter past six as he did tonight and go to his room at once. He always bathed and changed for dinner and always took about three-quarters of an hour over it. A little after seven I found him at his desk in the library as usual, dressed for dinner as usual and reading the evening paper as usual.”
Bernard chuckled. “Pray proceed!”
“About six-thirty, I heard the young people come home, which is seldom difficult. I also heard Mr. and Mrs. Graham enter Mr. Graham’s room, across the hall from mine. They were quite—audible.”
“I know,” Graham laughed. “We were scuffling!”
“So I—guessed,” replied Miss Mount impassively.
Landis checked a laugh and refrained from looking at Bernard.
“Please go on,” he suggested.
“About seven I left my room and came down the back stairs to speak to Cook about crisping the salted almonds. Then I came in here to ask Mr. Harrison whether he expected additional guests tomorrow.”
“Why?” asked Bernard suddenly.
“He had neglected to tell me and—additional ordering might have been necessary.”
“Pretty late for that, wasn’t it?”
“The local stores are open until nine on Saturday night, Mr. Bernard. As it happened, it wasn’t necessary.”
“Through which door did you enter the library, Miss Mount?” Landis inquired.
“Through the door at the end there, by the armor.”
“Was it open or closed when you reached it?”
“I’m not certain because I did not notice. Another simple deduction, however, leads me to feel sure that it was open and back against the wall as usual. It was always left open. If it had been closed then, I am quite convinced that I would have noticed it, as I did later.”
“Excellent reasoning,” contributed Bernard. “Open some time after seven, our door was!”
“Thank you,” replied Miss Mount evenly. “I did not remain in the library long. Mr. Harrison seemed tired and out of sorts—”
“You mean he was in a temper?”
“Yes, he was in a temper!”
“Excuse me,” Landis interrupted. “You didn’t close that door at the end of the library after you?”
“No, I did not, Mr. Landis.” She paused a moment. “I then crossed the hall to the dining-room to look at the table. When Susan came through with the cocktail glasses I followed her down the hall to the reception-room—”
“So you didn’t pass through the doorway in which Harrison was shot a few minutes later?” asked Bernard.
“No. I entered the reception-room from the hall. Stimson, the butler, came in with the cocktail shaker, set it down and returned to the dining-room—”
“Do you know that he returned to the dining-room?”
“No, I do not. He went in that direction. When he had gone I told Susan to ring the gong in the hall. She went out and did so. As she came back I noticed that the room felt chilly and moved to close the window.”
“Was it usually closed at that time?”
“No. We have left it open all summer to keep the room aired of the cigar- and cigarette-smoke. The weather has been comparatively warm and I have not yet given the order to close the window before the cocktails are served. I have been closing it when I sent Susan to ring the gong.”
“I see,” said Bernard. “Go on, please.”
“I crossed to the side of the room to lower the window. I was closing it when Mr. Harrison came into the doorway.”
“Do you mean that he paused in the doorway?” asked Landis eagerly.
“Yes. He—usually paused in a doorway.”
Brent had been growing restless. He stirred in his chair and coughed importantly.
“A somewhat pompous man!” he announced. “I often noticed it!”
Landis, who had too vivid a sense of humor for a detective, was seized with a more violent cough. He smothered it and caught an answering gleam in Miss Mount’s dark eyes.
“Beg pardon,” he apologized gravely. “And then?”
Miss Mount’s strong, capable hands closed tightly in her lap, the first sign of emotion she had shown.
“Before my eyes,” she told them in a lower voice, “Mr. Harrison suddenly spun half-way round, flung up his arms and fell heavily into the room on his back. He gave a shout of pain and anger as he fell.”
“Where were you standing when he fell?” asked Bernard.
“I was just closing the window and turned my head.”
“So you could not see down the library?”
“No, I could not. I didn’t try immediately.”
“What did you do?”
“When Mr. Harrison fell, Susan startled me further by screaming at the top of her lungs and dropping the tray of cocktails she was carrying.”
“You poured the cocktails before the guests came down?” inquired Landis.
“We poured them immediately after the gong sounded. Mr. Harrison was a man of extremely regular habits and liked his family and guests to be on time.”
“Fair enough,” Landis smiled. “What did you do?”
“Susan distracted me for an instant. Then I hurried to Mr. Harrison to help him to his feet, thinking that he had tripped in some way. I caught him by one arm and shoulder and lifted him a little. Susan suddenly cried out and pointed and I saw the shaft of the arrow under him. With the shock of that, I let him fall back again and then I noticed that his chest stuck out in a queer way, high up on the left. Susan flattened herself against the wall and went into hysterics, like the little ninny she is.”
“Quite so,” said Landis. “What did you do then?”
“Stimson appeared in the doorway from the hall and at that moment saw Mr. Harrison. He started forward to lift him. But I pointed to Susan and told Stimson, I believe, to close her mouth if he could. I didn’t wait to see what he did, but hurried past Mr. Harrison’s body into the library. A second look at his face made me believe he was dead.”
“What made you think so?” Bernard asked.
“Everything,” replied Miss Mount tartly, “his pallor, his dreadful stillness, the look of rage frozen on his face, the arrow under him—”
“In fact,” said Bernard quietly, “you expected him to be shot about that time and were not surprised.”
Miss Mount’s strong fingers unclenched and clenched again slowly.
“I did not expect him to be shot about that time, Mr. Bernard,” she retorted evenly.
Bernard turned like a flash and unleashed the full volume of his voice.
“About what time did you expect him to be shot?” he thundered.
Miss Mount hesitated, then drew herself up.
“I did not expect him to be shot at all!” she replied. “And if you wish to question me further you will kindly lower your voice and behave as nearly as possible like a gentleman.”
There was so concentrated and biting a resentment in her low tone that Landis studied her with interest.
Bernard smiled and leaned back in his chair.
“Direct and to the point,” he observed. “Proceed, please. You ran into the library—”
Again Miss Mount hesitated. But there was something about the big, elderly detective who sat watching her, smiling and unmoved, that demanded the respect of even so vital a personality as hers.
“Yes,” she said stiffly, “I hurried into the library and found it in darkness except for the lamp still burning on Mr. Harrison’s desk. That lighted only a small circle about his desk, so I turned aside to the doorway into the hall and switched on the overhead lights. Then I turned and looked all round the room. But there was no one here!”
“A very plucky thing to do,” commented Bernard.
“I have been with Mr. Harrison for nearly twenty-four years! It was the natural thing to do!”
“Did you notice anything at all?” inquired Landis.
“I did. The first thing I noticed was the door at the end there. It was almost closed. Usually it is open, as I told you a moment ago. I walked straight down the library looking behind the furniture until I came to the armor. I saw no one. But at the end there I noticed the Japanese bow leaning against the Japanese soldier. It has always been hung across his back. So I guessed—that is, I deduced—where the shot had come from. I pushed the door open and looked into the hall. There was no one in sight and the billiard-room windows were dark. I pulled the door nearly shut as I had found it and hurried back to Mr. Harrison.”
“You showed great presence of mind in reclosing the door,” said Bernard. “I suppose you overlooked the fact that your finger-prints on it might overlap and obliterate others?” he inquired curiously.
Miss Mount hesitated.
“I confess that I did!”
“That’s better,” said Bernard obscurely. “Where did you touch the door?”
“I believe I used the knob to open and close it.”
“Do you know whether, when the bow was in its usual place, the string was taut as it is now?” Landis inquired.
“I think not, but I’m not sure. Probably Susan would know. She dusts it every day.”
“Thank you,” nodded Landis. “What happened next?”
“Just as I went back into the reception-room from here, Isabelle Harrison entered it from the hall. She saw her father, ran forward, screamed and dropped in a faint. Susan was still screeching and I tried to quiet her while Stimson stretched Isabelle on her back and went for some water to revive her. As he went out into the hall, Anita passed him, coming in. She was followed within a very short time by Mr. Russell, Ethel Graham with Helen, the housemaid, at her heels and then Mr. Allen—”
“What did they all do? What did Anita Harrison do?” interrupted Bernard.
“During the moment that I noticed her, she simply stood and stared at her father. As to the others, the room was a bedlam with their excited questions and Susan’s whooping laughter. I believe Stimson came back and he and Mr. Russell tried to revive Isabelle, while Mr. Allen tried to lead Anita out of the room. I asked Mrs. Graham to request her husband to come down at once and take charge. It was a good deal of a shock to me.”
“Why did you send for Mr. Graham here? Why not for Harrison’s brother, Joel?” asked Bernard.
Miss Mount smiled tolerantly.
“Mr. Joel would have been totally unsuitable. You will realize that when you know him. As Mr. Harrison’s lawyer, Mr. Graham seemed the most suitable person to take charge.”
“And then?”
“I waited for Mr. Graham. When he came, at his suggestion I had Stimson and Helen Stokes take Susan to the kitchen. Mr. Russell had just carried Isabelle upstairs to her room. Mr. and Mrs. Graham went into the library where he telephoned for the doctor and the police. Mr. Allen and I led Anita to her room and the two men came down again. I went to my bathroom to get a restorative for Isabelle. The water had been of no use. I gave Anita my smelling salts and left Isabelle in her charge—”
“Anita had recovered entirely?” asked Bernard.
“Apparently she had,” answered Miss Mount.
“They were not on the best of terms, she and her father?” Bernard persisted.
Miss Mount gave him a sharp glance.
“They were both strong-willed and were not always on the best of terms.”
“I see the difference,” smiled Bernard. “So you came down again! What did you do then?”
“I went into the library where I found Mr. Russell and Mr. Allen waiting, and Mr. Graham at the telephone. When he hung up I pointed out to him the bow leaning against the Japanese armor and the fact that the door at the end was closed. The other two young men went across the hall for some dinner, and Mr. Graham sent his wife with them. I then described to him what we had seen happen, Susan and I. He said that he would stay there on guard, so I went upstairs to stay with the two girls. Susan had recovered by that time and I had her bring them up some supper and forced them to eat a little. I’ve been with them ever since, that is, until you sent for me just now.”
“How,” inquired Bernard, “did Mr. Graham happen to send for this Doctor Stanford?”
“Doctor Howells, Mr. Harrison’s regular physician, has almost retired and spends much of his time out of town. He is away now on a protracted vacation. When Mr. Graham asked me the name of Mr. Harrison’s doctor, I remembered that Doctor Stanford had once been here and suggested calling him.”
“He came here only once before?” asked Landis.
“Only once.”
“Why did you never send for him again? No need?”
“No. Mr. Harrison quarreled with him that once. Since then, when Doctor Howells is away, Mr. Harrison has gone to Doctor Somerville in the city, or sent for him.”
“What was the quarrel about?” asked Bernard.
Miss Mount’s manner displayed a faint trace of weariness.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” she replied. “Mr. Harrison merely remarked to me that he never wanted to see that—er—doctor in the house again.”
All four men smiled at this descriptive omission.
“By the way,” asked Bernard casually, “where was Joel Harrison all this time?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea! In bed, probably.”
“You mean he stayed in his room at the head of the stairs through all that screaming and never came out into the hall to see what was going on? Does that seem likely?”
Miss Mount loosed a final shaft.
“Apparently, he did, Mr. Bernard,” she replied. “He is not an inquisitive person.”