“I mentioned it in passing,” she answered. “The suite was probably placed there so that if the butler happened to be off duty, he could see from his sitting-room when guests arrived. I believe Stimson kept an eye on the drive for the return of Mr. Harrison, as he usually came downstairs at the same time. I had no wish or motive for ‘dragging it in’! You have a most peculiar way of putting your questions, Mr. Bernard!”
“Humph!”
Landis caught the eye of his colleague, glanced fleetingly at the target and made a very slight movement of his head toward the left of the stage. The cues were so swift and restrained that neither Miss Mount nor Graham noticed them.
Too wise to act on them at once, Bernard looked slowly about the big play-room. At last his attention became fixed on a wide passage which opened off the stage near the front of it, to his left. It crossed down-stage of the dressing-rooms on that side and led into the third-floor hall of the wing. He stared at Miss Mount until her glance met his, then nodded toward the passage, beyond which a single bulb dimly illuminated the hall.
“Servants’ rooms, I suppose, eh?” he growled. “Who occupies them?”
“The design of this floor of the wing is the same as the other floors,” answered Miss Mount stiffly. “There is a suite of two bedrooms and a bath toward the back and a similar suite toward the front. The rear suite is occupied by Harley, the chauffeur, and his wife, the cook. Susan Duckworth, the housemaid, and Helen Stokes, who acts as lady’s maid and housemaid, share the front suite between them.”
“And they’re all down on the first floor,” mused Bernard. “Just show me their rooms, please!”
Miss Mount clenched her hands at her sides and for a moment Landis expected an explosion. At the same time it occurred to him that Bernard, not too obviously, had been leading up to such an explosion. If it came, it might lay bare hidden things.
But Miss Mount controlled her temper and moved toward the passage. Bernard stalked after her, the purposeful grimness of his manner considerably overdone. The old detective was one of those rare souls who keep their humor to themselves on occasion and are quite content to enjoy it alone.
When Miss Mount, as a far from gracious Virgil, and Bernard, overconfident for a Dante, had vanished into the dim regions of the wing, Landis went back to the target and began a deliberate inspection of its surface. Presently he passed around it to examine the chimney, then called to his remaining companion: