“I hope Heath doesn’t find anything,” he said at length.
“Why—in Heaven’s name?” returned Vance. “If there’s no material evidence that Robin met his end in the archery-room, it’ll only make the problem more difficult legally.”
But the material evidence was forthcoming. The Sergeant returned a few minutes later, crestfallen but excited.
“Damn it, Mr. Vance!” he blurted. “You had the dope all right.” He made no attempt to keep the admiration out of his look. “There isn’t any actual blood on the floor; but there’s a dark place on the cement where somebody’s scrubbed it with a wet rag to-day some time. It ain’t dry yet; and the place is right near the door, where you said. And what makes it more suspicious is that one of those rugs has been pulled over it.—But that don’t let Sperling out altogether,” he added pugnaciously. “He mighta shot Robin indoors.”
“And then cleaned up the blood, wiped off the bow and arrow, and placed the body and the bow on the range, before making his departure? . . . Why? . . . Archery, to begin with, isn’t an indoor sport, Sergeant. And Sperling knows too much about it to attempt murder with a bow and arrow. A hit such as the one that ended Robin’s uneventful career would have been a pure fluke. Teucer himself couldn’t have achieved it with any degree of certainty—and, according to Homer, Teucer was the champion archer of the Greeks.”
As he spoke Pardee passed down the hall on his way out. He had nearly reached the front door when Vance rose suddenly and went to the archway.
“Oh, I say, Mr. Pardee. Just a moment, please.”
The man turned with an air of gracious compliance.
“There is one other question we’d like to ask you,” said Vance. “You mentioned seeing Mr. Sperling and Beedle leave here this morning by the wall gate. Are you sure you saw no one else use the gate?”
“Quite sure. That is, I don’t recall any one else.”