Doctor Stanford nodded familiarly to the policeman. The other three advanced and stood looking down at the object of his vigil. Landis and Bernard studied the position of the body both physiologically and in relation to the room in which it lay. Graham, beside them, and the doctor, opposite, studied their faces instead, noting the vast difference between them, idly speculating on their relative abilities. Bernard seemed more the type; burly, tenacious and, in spite of his age, distinctly formidable. About Landis, however, young and friendly and sympathetic though he was, there lurked an air of efficiency. They had received proof in the library of his deductive powers.
The doctor’s thoughts so closely paralleled those of Graham that the eyes of the two were drawn to each other and over the body of Harrison they exchanged a fleeting smile.
“He was shot in the doorway and he fell forward into the room.” Bernard was thinking aloud. “Then he ought to be lying on his face. Maybe he rolled over after he fell. Then he ought to be out of line with the door. But here he lies on his back with his legs pointing straight through the doorway toward that lop-eared bow!”
“That needn’t worry us, sir!” Landis looked at Stanford. “Wouldn’t the weight of an arrow driven hard enough to kill him be likely to spin him half-way round as he fell?”
“Almost sure to, striking him to one side as this one did! There’s little doubt that he fell on his back and never rolled at all.”
“Miss Mount saw him,” said Graham. “She can tell us how he fell.”
Landis nodded his thanks. “Describe the wound to us, will you, Doctor?”
“Certainly. The arrow struck and crashed through the fourth rib close to the left scapula, pierced the left lung and the heart and struck the fourth rib near the breastbone, causing a compound fracture there.”
“The same rib in front?” Landis exclaimed. “You mean the arrow was horizontal when it struck him?”