“No, I don’t! Because Miss Mount was in the front room on both occasions—not up in her own room with the cross-bow!”
“Right!” Landis snapped at him. “Now, with luck, I’m going ahead and prove to you beyond the shadow of a doubt, how she did it! I haven’t even looked for the proofs yet. But I know I’ll find them there! I’ve felt from the beginning that her reception-room alibi was too blamed good to be accidental! On each occasion she was just closing the window. Strange coincidence! It fits my theory!”
Bernard stared, a speculative alertness in his regard.
“Oh, it does, does it?” he drawled.
Landis jumped to his feet. “Come upstairs and we’ll find out how Graham is getting along!”
Susan was preparing to sound the breakfast gong as they entered the hall. At sight of them she dropped the padded hammer, picked it up again and giggled nervously. Descending the stairs with her usual dignity, Miss Mount shot at Susan a repressive glance and presented the detectives with a detached good morning. She passed them, her manner preoccupied. Bernard and Landis mounted the stairs without glancing round, yet instinctively aware that she had turned to look at them.
They found Graham propped up in bed, enjoying a light breakfast. It was evident that he had recovered from the shock of the night before and found his poise again, for he greeted them eagerly.
“Morning! Any luck?”
“Nothing definite,” replied Landis. “Can’t tell yet. How are you feeling? Better?”