“You see,” he began, “Mr. Harrison has a brother, Joel Harrison, who’s not quite—well—he’s unusual!”
“D’you mean he’s crazy?” suggested Bernard.
“No. He’s absent-minded and rather like a child—a sane child. He’ll devote immense enthusiasm to a fad that most of us would consider unimportant.” Graham smiled. “You’ll find the same identical symptoms in middle-aged golfers who are otherwise quite sane!
“Joel Harrison’s latest craze is archery. While not especially kind to him in other ways, Mr. Harrison must have given him a free hand with money. The house is full of bows and arrows. There are targets indoors and out. The two girls shoot very well and so does Miss Mount, who joins us occasionally. The rest of us have enjoyed the sport for a change and we’re all fair shots by this time, I guess.”
“You think someone in the house killed Harrison?” asked Landis bluntly.
“I’ve no other reason for thinking so. But the situation struck me as complicated and delicate. There are several guests. Harrison is the richest man in the neighborhood. Local respect for him would extend to his household.”
“What’s this stain on the carpet?” inquired Bernard.
“Susan dropped a tray of cocktails there when Mr. Harrison fell. She’s one of the housemaids.”
Bernard kneeled laboriously and sniffed at the patch of moisture. He found a bit of glass, turned it this way and that, then rose with a nod.
“Suppose we look over the ground a little before we see the doctor,” suggested Landis. “By the way, exactly where was Harrison standing when he was shot?”