“I just remembered,” said Landis, lowering his voice, “what Joel Harrison said about the bow, the first time we questioned him. He said, ‘The design ruins it for distance’! Now a bow that won’t shoot far won’t shoot hard either. It seemed so obvious that Harrison was killed with that bow that we hardly questioned it. Wait a minute—” He turned to Stimson.
“Think you can do it?” he asked.
“Hit the target, sir? I think so.”
“No. I don’t mean that.”
“Pierce the target? I doubt it, sir,” said Stimson.
“You ought to be on the force,” chuckled Landis.
When they reached the third floor, he sent the butler to tell the other servants that the detectives were trying an experiment and wished them to remain in their rooms.
When he came back, Stimson took the bow, fitted an arrow to the string, drew it back until the metal head touched the grip and let fly. The arrow flew straight and buried its head in the blue ring. Stimson tried it again, with the same result. The arrow struck and remained quivering. The sharp head penetrated to about two-thirds the thickness of the target.
“That the best you can do?” asked Bernard.
Stimson rubbed his wrist gently.