To his surprise, Bernard flung a big arm around his shoulders.
“Look here,” said the older man gruffly. “Don’t get discouraged. You don’t like my theories and I don’t like yours. But that just broadens the field for us both. In the meantime, until we can test your thread and rope and cross-bow theory, we’ll each follow our own lines as we planned and see where we get, eh?”
“Done with you!” said Landis, his good humor restored. As always, there was something contagious about the confidence of his famous colleague.
CHAPTER XXV
BERNARD OFFERS A HINT
Landis, who rather prided himself upon his habitual serenity during the course of an investigation, found himself exasperated to a degree that made it increasingly difficult to maintain his customary poise. The circumstantial evidence against Miss Mount was physically without a flaw. Psychologically it did not satisfy him. That the lady possessed a temper was evident. Baited to sudden overwhelming rage she might strike and damn the consequences. As a type to plan and perpetrate a cold-blooded murder she was less convincing.
Inwardly dubious himself, he had been perversely irritated at Bernard’s lack of interest in Miss Mount as the possible criminal. Yet he had acquired an almost reverential confidence in the judgment of the older man. So he relinquished, for the moment at least, his plan to cross-question Miss Mount.
The only alternative was to plow blindly ahead and hope for a scrap of fresh evidence which might point a clearer road. Possibly the gloves might prove something. In the meantime, firmly convinced that Anita had not killed her own father, he decided to question her anyway. There seemed nothing else to do and she might drop a hint that would prove enlightening in some other direction.
He followed Bernard down the main staircase, observing the figure of his colleague with mixed emotions. Bernard’s big body lumbered as he moved, one large hand smoothing the narrow, velvet handrail to steady him. But the generous feet were light and sure as they impressed the rich carpeting. Old as he was, Bernard still conveyed a suggestion of tremendous physical power. Landis fleetingly conjectured that a single wrench of that large hand could tear the handrail from its slim, wrought-iron supports.
A flash of enlightenment read into that conjecture a symbolic meaning. Rich and permanent though it seemed, ethically the house of Harrison was built upon sand. At least some of its inmates despised as well as feared Bernard. Yet the eternal verities hinted that the tide of his sterling qualities was capable of sweeping them and their castle of sand into oblivion.