“Joel Harrison. But he’s out of the question! He wouldn’t hurt a fly! Besides, I doubt if even he could shoot an arrow right through that target.”
“Can you think of anyone else in the house or the neighborhood able to shoot very hard?” Landis asked.
Graham shook his head.
“There isn’t anybody that I know of. What a strange thing! Rather ghastly to think about. I wish this business was over!” He looked at Landis with a sudden speculative interest. “How cynical you fellows must get, running into this sort of thing all the time! My cases are civil ones and some of them are bad enough, though others are just business. But you must find it hard to keep a clear perspective on human nature. Murder is so sordid and so—so damned stupid!”
“Agreed,” Landis smiled. “But there’s a difference between suspecting everyone and condemning everyone unheard! Most of us avoid the last, I guess.”
The sound of voices drew their eyes to the passage through which Miss Mount and Bernard were returning. Landis waited for them to draw nearer, then addressed the angry but stoical hostess of the Harrison ménage:
“Thanks for showing us round, Miss Mount. Now I wonder whether you’d mind waiting here with Mr. Graham for just a minute while we glance through the butler’s suite. We won’t keep you long.”
“Very well,” she answered evenly.
As they walked down the long room toward the front of the house, Landis darted an inquiring glance sideways at his companion. Bernard caught it.
“Nothing of interest,” he rumbled. “Usual servants’ rooms, stuffy and commonplace. Couldn’t search, of course. What about the target?”