“And what did take place?”
“A Mr. Robin was killed.—You knew him perhaps?”
“The archer—Belle’s Champion Archer? . . . Yes, I knew him. A strong healthy child who could pull a heavy bow and not get tired.—Who killed him?”
“We don’t know.” Vance, despite his negligent air, was watching her astutely. “But inasmuch as he was killed on the range, within sight of your window, we hoped you might be able to help us.”
Mrs. Drukker’s eyelids drooped craftily, and she clasped her hands with a kind of deliberate satisfaction.
“You are sure he was killed on the range?”
“We found him on the range,” Vance returned non-committally.
“I see. . . . But what can I do to help you?” She lay back relaxed.
“Did you notice any one on the range this morning?” asked Vance.
“No!” The denial was swift and emphatic. “I saw no one. I haven’t looked out on the range all day.”