“Fair enough,” Landis smiled. “What did you do?”
“Susan distracted me for an instant. Then I hurried to Mr. Harrison to help him to his feet, thinking that he had tripped in some way. I caught him by one arm and shoulder and lifted him a little. Susan suddenly cried out and pointed and I saw the shaft of the arrow under him. With the shock of that, I let him fall back again and then I noticed that his chest stuck out in a queer way, high up on the left. Susan flattened herself against the wall and went into hysterics, like the little ninny she is.”
“Quite so,” said Landis. “What did you do then?”
“Stimson appeared in the doorway from the hall and at that moment saw Mr. Harrison. He started forward to lift him. But I pointed to Susan and told Stimson, I believe, to close her mouth if he could. I didn’t wait to see what he did, but hurried past Mr. Harrison’s body into the library. A second look at his face made me believe he was dead.”
“What made you think so?” Bernard asked.
“Everything,” replied Miss Mount tartly, “his pallor, his dreadful stillness, the look of rage frozen on his face, the arrow under him—”
“In fact,” said Bernard quietly, “you expected him to be shot about that time and were not surprised.”
Miss Mount’s strong fingers unclenched and clenched again slowly.
“I did not expect him to be shot about that time, Mr. Bernard,” she retorted evenly.
Bernard turned like a flash and unleashed the full volume of his voice.