Vance met the woman’s gaze steadily, and sighed.
“It’s most unfortunate,” he murmured. “Had you been looking out of the window this morning, it’s wholly possible you might have seen the tragedy. . . . Mr. Robin was killed with a bow and arrow, and there seems to have been no motive whatever for the act.”
“You know he was killed with a bow and arrow?” she asked, a tinge of color coming into her ashen cheeks.
“That was the Medical Examiner’s report. There was an arrow through his heart when we found him.”
“Of course. That seems perfectly natural, doesn’t it? . . . An arrow through the Robin’s heart!” She spoke with vague aloofness, a distant, fascinated look in her eyes.
There was a strained silence, and Vance moved toward the window.
“Do you mind if I look out?”
With difficulty the woman brought herself back from some far train of thought.
“Oh, no. It isn’t much of a view, though. I can see the trees of 76th Street toward the north, and a part of the Dillard yard to the south. But that brick wall opposite is very depressing. Before the apartment house was built I had a beautiful view of the river.”
Vance looked for a while down into the archery range.