“And now to business,” he said. “With your permission, Landis, I propose to have a full confession from Graham. I think I know most of the details but we want a confession.”
White and shaken, Graham was staring at Bernard with hurt amazement.
“You don’t think I have anything to confess!” he gasped.
“I don’t think it! I know it!” snapped Bernard. “We caught you red-handed, my lad!”
“Good God, Bernard! What do you mean? I only slipped across the hall to watch what happened when you pulled your thread! The desk wobbled and I put out my hand to steady it just as the bow twanged. Then these fellows burst from Miss Mount’s clothes-closet and laid hold of me! I can’t believe you mean it! You must be joking—”
“Can’t you?” retorted Bernard. “It’s a grim sort of joke! But we’ll begin at the beginning and lead you up to your confession gently.”
Graham tried to smile.
“Go on with your joke then!” He was recovering his composure. An instant later he lost some of it.
“I will!” Bernard looked down at Graham’s hands which the policemen held in view. Following his glance, Landis saw with a shock that Graham was wearing the famous gloves. Astonishment at the whole situation turned swiftly to regret. He had liked Graham.
“I notice,” said Bernard dryly, “that you went into Joel’s den and put on the gloves before you touched the cross-bow—pardon me—I mean, before you steadied that wobbling desk!” He stepped toward the window and tried to tilt the desk this way and that. “Seems steady enough now, Graham!”