“Yes, sir. I have nothing to hide.”
“Not even that bit of feather from the Japanese arrow that killed Harrison?” Bernard snapped. “We found it in the clothes you wore that day!”
Stimson shook his head.
“Not even that, sir! I left it there for you to find—if you looked!”
“Oh, you left it there for us to find, eh?” repeated Bernard with heavy sarcasm. “Then why didn’t you tell us about it—if you thought we’d find it anyway?”
“Why should I incriminate myself, sir? No man is called upon to do that! I found it there the afternoon before the murder and threw it into the waste basket. After the murder I picked it out of the basket and put it back in my pocket, feeling it my duty not to interfere with anything that might be a clue. The rest I left to chance and your search. You might solve the murder without that bit of feather, which might save me unpleasant moments—like the present, sir!”
Landis chuckled suddenly.
“Stimson,” he said, “you’re a great fellow! I believe we shall get on together. Now, as a favor to me, bring that Japanese bow and the remaining arrows up to the third floor. I want to try an experiment.”
Landis led the way to the back stairs, Bernard close at his heels. The butler brought up the rear with the Japanese bow and arrows.
“What’s the idea?” whispered Bernard as they mounted. “Think it won’t pierce the target?”