Heath stepped nearer to him, and thrust out his chin.
“Maybe you can tell us who killed him—with a bow and arrow!”
“Why—why do you—think I know?” Sperling managed to stammer.
“Well,” returned the Sergeant relentlessly, “you were jealous of Robin, weren’t you? You had a hot argument with him about the girl, right in this room, didn’t you? And you were alone with him just before he was croaked, weren’t you? And you’re a pretty good shot with the bow and arrow, aren’t you?—That’s why I think that maybe you know something.” He narrowed his eyes and drew his upper lip over his teeth. “Say! Come clean. Nobody else but you coulda done it. You had a fight with him over the girl, and you were the last person seen with him—only a few minutes before he was killed. And who else woulda shot him with a bow and arrow except a champeen archer—huh? . . . Make it easy for yourself, and spill the story. We’ve got you.”
A strange light had gathered in Sperling’s eyes, and his body became rigid.
“Tell me,”—he spoke in a strained, unnatural voice—“did you find the bow?”
“Sure we found it.” Heath laughed unpleasantly. “Right where you left it—in the alley.”
“What kind of a bow was it?” Sperling’s gaze had not moved from some distant point.
“What kind of a bow?” repeated Heath. “A regular bow——”
Vance, who had been watching the youth closely, interrupted.