“Is there anyone in any way connected with this case who might be more cunning and unscrupulous than is apparent, who has no alibi whatever and who could have accomplished the murder so far as knowledge, skill with a bow and opportunity are concerned?”
When he finished reading, Graham looked up.
“Mr. Brent?” he murmured. “Or Joel Harrison?”
Bernard held out his hand for his record and put it in his pocket.
“I didn’t say so,” he denied.
A knock on the bedroom door distracted their attention. In answer to Graham’s summons, Stimson opened the door and stood on the threshold, his eyes on Bernard.
“Mr. Brent has arrived in answer to your call, sir,” he announced. “Will he be staying to lunch, sir? It’s just ready.”
“He will, Stimson,” said Bernard. “Tell him I’d like a word with him after the meal.”
“Very good, sir,” said Stimson and withdrew.
Landis and Graham were staring at each other with a wild surmise that was worthy of stout Cortez. The musical clamor of the gong floated up to them from the hall below. Bernard got briskly to his feet.