“Hold it there, then!” Landis whirled about, sighted along the arrow from point to feather vanes, took it and held it and stepped aside. “Look along it,” he directed in triumph.
Bernard obeyed, the tip of the arrowhead against his nose. Sighting along the shaft toward the nock, his line of vision led straight through the open top of the middle library window to the lower edge of Miss Mount’s drawn shade on the second-floor wing. If her window had been open, the arrow would have pointed backward into her room.
“And there,” said Landis, “endeth our first real clue!”
“The cross-bow it is!” rapped Bernard, “from Miss Mount’s—”
He broke off, turned and for all his weight sprang lightly to the hall doorway. Stimson was just disappearing with lithe speed into the drawing-room opposite. Bernard called him sharply. He reappeared at once.
“You called, sir!”
“Come here! What were you snooping around for, after we sent you back to the kitchen? You killed Harrison and had a try at Graham! We’re sure of it now! You hated Harrison and you shot him!”
Stimson shook his head.
“That is a mistake, sir. I didn’t shoot at either of them,” he answered calmly.