“He’s at the university; but he’s expected to return soon.”
Markham nodded and followed the Sergeant into the main hall. As we passed down the heavily-carpeted passage to the rear, there was a sound on the staircase, and a clear but somewhat tremulous woman’s voice spoke from the semi-darkness above.
“Is that you, Mr. Markham? Uncle thought he recognized your voice. He’s waiting for you in the library.”
“I’ll join your uncle in a very few minutes, Miss Dillard.” Markham’s tone was paternal and sympathetic. “And please wait with him, for I want to see you, too.”
With a murmured acquiescence, the girl disappeared round the head of the stairs.
We moved on to the rear door of the lower hall. Beyond was a narrow passageway terminating in a flight of wooden steps which led to the basement. At the foot of these steps we came into a large, low-ceilinged room with a door giving directly upon the areaway at the west side of the house. This door was slightly ajar, and in the opening stood the man from the Homicide Bureau whom Heath had set to guard the body.
The room had obviously once been a basement storage; but it had been altered and redecorated, and now served as a sort of club-room. The cement floor was covered with fibre rugs, and one entire wall was painted with a panorama of archers throughout the ages. In an oblong panel on the left was a huge illustrated reproduction of an archery range labelled “Ayme for Finsburie Archers—London 1594,” showing Bloody House Ridge in one corner, Westminster Hall in the centre, and Welsh Hall in the foreground. There were a piano and a phonograph in the room; numerous comfortable wicker chairs; a varicolored divan; an enormous wicker centre-table littered with all manner of sports magazines; and a small bookcase filled with works on archery. Several targets rested in one corner, their gold discs and concentric chromatic rings making brilliant splashes of color in the sunlight which flooded in from the two rear windows. One wall space near the door was hung with long bows of varying sizes and weights; and near them was a large old-fashioned tool-chest. Above it was suspended a small cupboard, or ascham, strewn with various odds and ends of tackle, such as bracers, shooting-gloves, piles, points of aim, and bow strings. A large oak panel between the door and the west window contained a display of one of the most interesting and varied collections of arrows I had ever seen.
This panel attracted Vance particularly, and adjusting his monocle carefully, he strolled over to it.
“Hunting and war arrows,” he remarked. “Most inveiglin’. . . . Ah! One of the trophies seems to have disappeared. Taken down with considerable haste, too. The little brass brad that held it in place is shockingly bent.”
On the floor stood several quivers filled with target arrows. He leaned over and, withdrawing one, extended it to Markham.