“Yes, I did, before I sat down. Finding the library just as it was Saturday night, shadowy, fire burning and all, I wandered to the end of the room to look at it, as a person will after a tragedy—”
“Of course,” nodded Landis eagerly. “Well?”
“It was just the same—strung and leaning against the armor—”
Landis leaned forward.
“But it wasn’t left strung!” he interrupted sharply. “I unstrung it late Saturday night!”
Graham shuddered.
“Good Lord!” he cried hoarsely. “Whoever did it was waiting in the hall, perhaps! But the door was open. I didn’t see anybody about!”
“You didn’t look, of course,” growled Bernard. “Tell us the rest and don’t worry! They won’t get another crack at you. We’ll see to that!”
“While I was sitting at Harrison’s desk,” said Graham suddenly, “I heard a sound in the formal garden outside the windows. I’m sure of it now! I didn’t pay much attention then. But I did hear footsteps, soft ones, on the gravel just once or twice—at least it sounded like the crunch of gravel under foot.”
“What time was that?” demanded Bernard.