“It’s safe enough,” smiled Bernard. “And it’s really necessary. It will
reproduce all the stresses and strains on the black thread and prove
whether the theory Landis advanced would work out in practice. Don’t
you worry about us. You lock your door until we get back and we’ll tell
you all about it.”

“All right,” agreed the young lawyer dubiously.

Out in the hall with Graham’s door closed, Landis turned on Bernard.

“Have you traced Brent’s movements the night of the murder?” he
demanded.

“Certainly not! But he told us he was out for a stroll at the time,
if you remember. He’s hard up and Harrison’s death means a big income
to him. Also, Joel showed Brent his treasures a week ago Sunday,
including, presumably, the cross-bow. Brent has plenty of motive, no
alibi and is a very good shot, Landis. Remember how he hung about that
first night when we were questioning Miss Mount? Finally, it’s just
possible that Graham knows too much about his financial affairs!”

Landis nodded uncertainly.

“Not much better and no worse than our other theories,” he muttered.
“Oh, well, let’s try out the cross-bow, eh?”

They entered Miss Mount’s room and moved quietly through the bathroom
into Joel’s den. Five or six minutes later they had wound up the
cross-bow, adjusted it to the recent scratches on Miss Mount’s desk,
propped up the butt with a book and set the Japanese arrow in the
groove of the stock. They sighted along the arrow to find that it
pointed straight through the open top of the middle library window and
through the reception-room door beyond.

Satisfied on that point, Landis carefully fastened his thread to
the trigger, passed it around the knob of the closed bathroom door
and holding the thread, dropped the spool out the window into the
garden-bed below.

They descended the stairs at the end of the wing, passed out into the
grounds, found the spool and carried it to the reception-room window,
paying out their thread as they went.

Now Landis, who had carefully tested the pull of the trigger, drew
the black thread as taut as he dared and fastened it, with a stout
thumbtack, to the lower sash of the window which Miss Mount had
closed. The window was open again, the lower sash high above the sill.

“You could simply pull our thread from out here,” he observed to
Bernard, “but to prove our theory up to the hilt, the window ought to
be actually lowered as Miss Mount lowered it that night.”

“_Your_ theory,” corrected Bernard. “You’re right, of course. I’ll
lower the window from here and you can watch from indoors. Never mind
about people blundering into the library to get shot. They’re all at
lunch and I’ve stationed the policemen out of sight. If someone came
nosing about, it might give us a hint and we don’t want our cops in
evidence on that account. So you take up your stand in the far corner
of the reception-room and keep out of the line of fire. Let me know
when you’re ready and I’ll pull down the window!”

Bernard waited, one elbow on the sill, until Landis had passed around
through the wing and the library to his post. He took that route to
avoid being seen from the dining-room.

“Ready?” called Bernard.

“Shoot!” replied Landis alertly.

With a sudden grin, Bernard raised both his arms, avoiding the thread,
put his weight on the sash and pulled the window down with a bang.

From his position in the reception-room, Landis caught a distant and
musical twang. To his utter amazement, however, no Japanese arrow
flashed through the reception-room doorway. Instead, he was startled by
a bellow of rage from outdoors and glancing through the closed window
was further amazed to see no sign of Bernard.

With a sense of sickening dread he sprang into the main hall, ran to
the front door, flung it open and dashed round the corner of the house.

He was just in time to catch Bernard wallowing on his face in the
flower-bed under the window. A moment later his elderly colleague had
scrambled to his feet and turned.

“My God, are you hurt?” Landis shouted.

“Not a bit of it! Just dirty!” snapped Bernard. “There’s your arrow! It
worked!”

Landis followed his pointing finger. A few feet behind where Bernard
had been standing, the arrow had glanced from the stone foundations of
the house and buried two feet of its length in the soft, moist earth of
the garden-bed.

He looked back at Bernard. The old detective’s face was pale under its
accumulated tan and his mouth was grim.

“It just missed you!” cried Landis. “How in hell--”

“Come on!” snapped Bernard. “We’ve got our criminal--and a damned
clever one, Landis--_too_ clever, that’s all!”

Momentarily bemused with astonishment, Landis saw that his companion
was running heavily toward the door at the end of the wing. He came to
himself with a jerk and sprang in pursuit. Bernard had gained the foot
of the wing stairs when Landis overtook him. Landis made no attempt to
pass but hung on his heels, marveling alike at Bernard’s words and his
lumbering speed as he climbed. They burst into the second-floor hall
and Bernard pounded away toward Miss Mount’s room. Landis drew level
with him but fell back as they reached her door.

Bernard’s massive figure blocked the doorway for an instant, then moved
aside to reveal Sergeant Forbes and one of his men half way between the
door and the desk. Landis stared at them in amazement.

Gripped firmly between them, erect and pale, stood Graham.

CHAPTER XXVI

MOTIVE AND METHOD

Bernard was rubbing his hands. He turned on Landis before his younger
colleague had fully recovered from his surprise.

“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!”

“I thought it moved!” retorted Graham in a strained voice. “I was
afraid of the experiment anyway!”

“And the gloves?”

“Great Scott, Mr. Bernard! I simply tried them on!”

“To give us a better set of your finger-prints? The others, of which I
have an impression, will do to hang you!”

Wincing a little, Graham drew his hands together, a movement permitted
by his captors, and with two quick twitches pulled off the gloves.

“There! I wanted to see how large they were!” The laugh that
accompanied his words obviously cost him an effort. “I don’t know why
you’re having all this fun at my expense--”

Bernard’s massive shoulders moved under the impetus of a grim and
dreadful chuckle.

“You’re game, Graham!” he said.

Abruptly he turned to Landis.

“Stand guard and don’t let anyone in here,” he said, “while I tell you
the history of Harrison’s murder. Suspecting _everyone_, Landis,
I’ve suspected Graham from the first! That suspicion grew steadily
until the finger-prints gave me my proof! Now for the facts.”

Landis stepped back to the door and turned to watch Graham’s harassed,
white face.

“Go on,” he said.

“Some months ago, as Graham told us, Harrison set him to work to find
Ethel Cuddy. Graham knew her already, probably knew all about her
supposed parents then. But Harrison’s interest and his lame story of a
deceased friend as Ethel’s father gave Graham an idea. He thought he
saw a way to make a fortune by blackmail, a way that carried no risk.
So he went to see the Cuddys. Harrison’s payments to them had ceased.
Cuddy is a miser and would sell his best friend for money. Graham
bribed out of him the whole story of the kidnapping and where Ethel was
born. He traced the records, got a good description of Miss Mount and
possibly of Harrison, then married Ethel and got Harrison to invite
them out here. Most of that story, except the essential details of his
motive, Graham told us himself.”

“Mr. Bernard!” exclaimed Graham. “I told you that in confidence--”

“Shut up! We’ll hear you presently. To resume. No doubt the Cuddys told
Graham that Ethel had a scar on her back that would identify her. She
had it when they kidnapped her, you see, when she was only three years
old. Now Harrison paid for the child’s support _before_ he had
the Cuddys kidnap her as well as after. But he wouldn’t dare send such
sums in his own name. He had his lawyers do it. The old records of the
firm would verify the Cuddys’ statements as to the people who cared for
Ethel until she was three. Graham had access to those records.

“From the very beginning I never believed Graham’s story that Harrison
offered to leave the girl a part of his fortune. Harrison wasn’t that
sort. What happened was that Graham blackmailed him into transferring
some two million dollars into a trust fund for the girl. Harrison
would receive the income from these securities as long as he lived.
Then the income, from an unknown donor, would go to Ethel--and her
husband, eh, Graham?”

“My God!” cried the young lawyer. “I don’t know what Harrison may have
done about Ethel! I _told_ you that!”

“Not a doubt you covered your tracks there!” snapped Bernard. “Now,
then! You justified your blackmail by explaining to Harrison that you
were only asking for Ethel her just due as his daughter, legitimate or
no. Anyhow, Harrison found himself in a box, with an outraged woman and
a public scandal to face. So on Monday, a week ago yesterday, he took
you into town, lunched with you, talked it over, went to the bank and
arranged the trust fund. He would get the income from it as long as he
lived. There was plenty left for Isabelle and Anita. I don’t suppose he
cared much what became of the money after he died!

“You may remember, Landis, that Brent told us the estate was two
million dollars less than he had supposed. Brent is accurate, I
imagine, whatever else he seems.”

“I remember,” nodded Landis soberly. The gloves and Graham’s pallor had
already convinced him.

“In return for the trust fund, Graham no doubt promised Harrison to
keep the whole thing a secret from his wife and everyone, including,
of course, the fact that Miss Mount was the mother. Harrison must have
heaved a sigh of relief and decided that he had got off light. For the
skeleton in his cupboard was buried under a married name!

“But Harrison was hale and hearty. Probably he’d live another twenty
years, years which Graham proposed to enjoy. So early last week our
young friend, here, decided to go the whole hog. And he cast about for
some safe method to murder Harrison and get the trust fund!”

“Murder him! Good God, Bernard, are you trying to pin this thing on
_me_? You mean to say you’d do a vile, cruel thing like that to
save your face--because the case has beaten you?”

Bernard nodded grimly.

“Just so!”

He turned back to Landis.

“The fact that all the household shot with bows and arrows gave him his
cue. He planned to shoot Harrison with a bow and arrow in some way.
Probably he had noticed the Japanese bow and considered that.

“On Tuesday, Joel asked Russell, Allen and the two girls into his den.
He did not include the Grahams. Yet Graham described the den to us that
first night, so he must have been in there!

“Shooting up on the third floor that Tuesday afternoon, Joel or
somebody probably mentioned cross-bows. Another cue for Graham! In
such a weapon he saw a more certain method of killing Harrison. With
an ordinary bow he might miss. Within the next twenty-four hours he
sneaked into the den, selected that cross-bow, found an opportunity to
test it on the third floor with a Japanese arrow, noticed the bit of
feather, planted it on Stimson to furnish another misleading clue and
so improved on his original idea. But remembering the Japanese bow, he
arranged that to look as if it had been used instead.

“Now consider the situation as he considered it. On Sunday night in
the library, when Graham was blackmailing Harrison, Anita came in and
quarreled with her father about Allen. There he had one person, two in
fact, with a motive for murder. Allen’s room was handy to the Japanese
bow. Graham’s one mistake was not making sure that the Japanese bow
would shoot that hard.”

“You’re mad!” shouted Graham suddenly. Studying him for an instant,
Landis saw signs that he was cracking under the strain. Bernard drove
smoothly on with his indictment.

“There were other people with possible motives, too. Joel was little
more than a half-wit, could shoot well and was mercilessly bullied
by his brother. Again, Graham may have overheard enough to know that
Russell was sore on Harrison for not letting him marry Isabelle unless
and until he went to work. Russell was handy to the Japanese bow also.

“Of course Graham watched Harrison closely, noticed that he stooped
when he went through a door and above all, noticed the regularity of
his habits in the evening. The household was run like clockwork. So
Graham could be sure exactly where most of the inmates would be at
the time he planned to kill Harrison. On his visit to Joel’s den,
which he could reach only through Miss Mount’s room, he looked out her
window and saw a clear path to the reception-room door. Now the really
brilliant method came to him. For it permitted him to shoot Harrison
from close to his own room and also to work out an alibi that looked
perfect--but wasn’t!”

“The bath water running!” Landis exclaimed.

“Exactly! To go back a little, before he murdered Harrison he
had another idea. Perhaps Miss Mount would do it for him! So he
deliberately burned his wife’s back with his cigarette, close to the
scar. Miss Mount heard her scream and came across the hall as he hoped.
He left her to find the scar. He knew that she questioned his wife next
morning and then was gone all day. He knew, no doubt, that his wife had
given her the address of the Cuddys as she told us she had. It was easy
to guess that Miss Mount had gone to see them and would learn what he
had learned. Her quarrel with Harrison that night satisfied him that
she _had_ learned, for the first time, the trick Harrison had
played on her.

“So far so good. Graham waited to see whether Miss Mount would do his
work for him. But she limited herself to making a fuss of Ethel. So he
went ahead with his own plans, content to know that in Miss Mount he
had an alternative suspect with an especially strong motive. That’s why
he told us as much as he did about Ethel and let us guess that Miss
Mount was her mother. He led us up to that very cleverly!

“Now for what actually happened. The night before the murder, Friday
night, he got the cross-bow and the gloves from Joel’s room and hid
them in his own. During the night he put on the gloves, stole down
to the library, detached the Japanese bow from the armor, strung it
and left it leaning handy there. He took back with him an unblunted
Japanese arrow and hid that in his room as well.

“Saturday night, when they all came home to dress, he delayed his wife
and himself by romping with her. Giving their lateness as an excuse,
he rang for Helen to help her dress. He wanted Helen as an additional
witness to his alibi.

“He went into the bathroom, probably locked the door into his wife’s
room and turned on the bathwater. Then he stripped, resumed his
coat and trousers and wound up the cross-bow, wiping it clean of
finger-prints afterwards.

“Just before it was time for the gong he set up a great splashing in
the tub with his hands, so the women would think he was in his bath.
He left the water running, hurried into his room and pulled on the
gloves, _tearing them at the wrists because his hands were wet and
the leather stuck to them_!” Bernard looked at Landis.

Graham struggled between his captors, his face a mask of bitter fear.

“Lies!” he shouted. “You’re weaving a web of circumstantial evidence
around me, as you tried to weave it round Miss Mount! There’s no proof!
No proof, I tell you!”

Bernard turned.

“Only the finger-prints, Graham! Distinct and damning in the wet
finger-tips!

“To proceed. He opened his door softly, saw that the coast was clear,
nipped across to Miss Mount’s room and made sure that her window was
open from the bottom as usual. He saw Harrison at his desk. He fitted
the Japanese arrow to the cross-bow and waited. The gong rang almost
at once. Harrison rose. Graham aimed his cross-bow. Harrison reached
the reception-room door and paused there, stooping a little as usual.
Graham let fly and without waiting to see the result of his shot, raced
back to his room with the cross-bow and gloves. Probably he heard Susan
scream as he crossed the hall. But he hid the weapon and the gloves in
his room, ran into the bathroom and began splashing the water about as
before. It was then that he shut off the tap.”

Graham’s face was ghastly, distorted as though he were undergoing
physical torture.

“Lies!” he gasped. “A fabric of clever lies! You have no proof!”

“The rest we know,” continued Bernard calmly. “His wife heard the
scream and hammered on the bathroom door. He stopped splashing and
asked her what was up. She told him someone screamed and he sent her
downstairs to see what had happened. Satisfied that she was going, he
ran to his door into the hall and heard his wife and Helen go past on
their way downstairs. Then he nipped across the hall and replaced the
cross-bow and the gloves in Joel’s room. He was just going or just
coming back when he heard Anita running along the hall. He ducked back
into Miss Mount’s room or into his own and she ran past without seeing
him. She ran downstairs by the near flight. Graham finished and slipped
back to his bathroom, satisfied that all was well. He stripped off his
coat and trousers and got into the tub. When his wife came up again he
was naked, drying himself. A perfect alibi--almost, eh, Graham?”

Now at last Graham snapped.

“It’s a lie!” he screamed, wrenching at his arms to free them. “You’re
a liar! I didn’t kill Harrison! I--I was shot myself by the same hand!”

“You bet you were!” retorted Bernard. “You shot yourself, too! It was
the cleverest and yet the most foolish thing you did, Graham! But
the trail was getting warm. Just before we went into town yesterday
I let you see that I was going after Cuddy. You were smart enough to
appreciate the risk there. So you shot yourself to mystify us and
bolster up your own alibi! It was to be mystery piled on mystery, with
you one of the innocent victims! Only--nobody except yourself had any
real motive for shooting you, Graham!”

Graham tried to pull himself together.

“I suppose I stood in the library and shot myself from Miss Mount’s
window here at the same time!” he gasped. “Don’t try to pin Harrison’s
murder on an innocent man just because you’ve failed to find the real
murderer!”

“When you shot Harrison,” replied Bernard smoothly, “you saw Miss Mount
closing the reception-room window and you realized that she did the
same thing every night at the same time. She had a motive already. Why
not pin the business definitely on her and thereby close the door
forever upon your wife’s unhappy past?”

Graham stared pleadingly at the faces of his other captors but found
no response. Landis and the policemen were held spellbound, as much
by Bernard’s tremendous personality as by his reasoned, relentless
exposure of the motive and the method of the crime.

“You were left alone all day yesterday,” Bernard continued. “You spent
your time collecting the rope and thread and preparing the Japanese bow
as before. When Miss Mount went downstairs last night you went across
to her room and got the cross-bow from Joel’s den as before. You got
the gloves as before. But this time you lashed the cross-bow on the
desk with your rope, hitched the thread to the trigger, ran it over
the doorknob and dropped the spool out the window as we did just now.
_You went out and locked Miss Mount’s door!_

“Mrs. Graham was tired so you got her to lie down. You went down and
outdoors, got the spool, tossed it through the library window, made a
nail-hole in the reception-room window and went round into the library,
ostensibly to resume your work. You picked up the spool in there. When
the gong rang you walked to the door as Harrison had done, jerked your
thread and at the same time swerved aside. You didn’t swerve quite far
enough. Or maybe you were willing to risk a wound to make the business
more realistic and thereby save your neck from the noose. Was that it?”

Graham shook his head and tried to speak but in vain.

“You fell in the doorway so that Miss Mount couldn’t get past,” Bernard
resumed. “As she ran into the hall, you wound up the broken thread and
stowed it in your pocket while she was looking for the murderer.

“Stimson came and took you upstairs. You were sure that Susan would
keep Miss Mount busy as before. So you dismissed everybody on a plea of
nervousness and nausea, nipped across the hall, unlocked Miss Mount’s
door, restored the key to the inside, replaced the cross-bow and the
gloves in Joel’s den, planted your thread in her sewing-drawer and your
rope in her clothes-closet and went cheerfully back to bed. Later, you
were careful to tell us that you heard a noise outside the library
windows before you were shot. If we traced the method and found the
nail-hole, the rope and the thread, that would pin the murder and the
attempted murder on Miss Mount almost past a doubt!”

Graham turned upon Landis eyes that strove to hide stark terror beneath
their indignation.

“Do you believe it?” he demanded hoarsely. “Is it probable?”

“Of course it isn’t!” Bernard cut it. “It’s too clever for that. But
those finger-prints will hang you!”

“This--this business just now!” shouted Graham suddenly. “Why should I
try to kill you?”

“_I_ haven’t said you did!” was the swift retort. “But you came
mighty near it! Only, I was expecting you to try, so I dropped flat
as I lowered the window and pulled the thread. Now for your motive! I
handed you a sheet of paper a little while ago with a lot of indefinite
nonsense on it. You suspected I did it to get your finger-prints. You
were right. But I wanted you to know that I suspected you. When you
warned us--warned Landis in advance--that our experiment was dangerous,
I knew that you had fallen into my little trap!

“A clever trap wouldn’t have caught you, Graham. This was so simple and
obvious that you fell for it and tried to kill me. I made a point of
telling you that everyone would be downstairs, including the policeman
we posted to guard you. That left you a clear road to the cross-bow.
One little twitch and it would shoot me instead of shooting through the
reception-room doorway!”

“What good would that do?” Graham demanded shrilly. “Landis would
remain!”

Bernard laughed.

“Landis had fallen for your evidence against Miss Mount and you knew
it. You also knew that he had not heard my theory and was still waiting
to hear it. If I were killed he never would hear it. You were going to
hide the gloves. When he got up here, you’d be back in your bed with
your door locked and the gloves would have mysteriously disappeared.
There would be no evidence, probably no suspicion against you. Landis
could only conclude that the arrow had swerved and your considerate
warning was justified. You’d be where you were before I began to
suspect you in earnest. That’s the story. The game’s up, Graham!”

The young lawyer started as though fully realizing his position for
the first time. Into his eyes, dazed with terror, crept an expression
of dreadful certainty. He stared slowly from face to face of his four
captors. The two policemen looked puzzled but determined. Bernard’s
face was adamant. On the features of Landis alone was there any trace
of pity. But Graham read conviction there, too. It was the pity of the
living for a man already condemned to death--

Once more he looked at Bernard, staring at him attentively. In the
brief silence, the others could hear the catch and sigh of his hurried
breathing. They saw that he had begun to tremble. At length he spoke,
his voice almost calm, although it shook a little.

“Bernard,” he said, “you’ve woven about me a web of damnably clever
circumstantial evidence. For the sake of--of my wife, will you give me
one chance to prove you wrong before you charge me with this thing?”

Frowning a little, Bernard returned the stare of his victim. Slowly his
brows cleared and he nodded.

“Yes. For the sake of your wife, Graham.”

“Then wind up the cross-bow, get me an arrow from Joel’s den--any
arrow--and I’ll prove to you that I couldn’t have shot Harrison!”

Unsmiling, Bernard moved to the desk and complied by winding up the
bow. He opened the bathroom door, lifted the black thread and slipping
under it, disappeared into the room beyond. After a moment he returned
with an arrow. He closed the bathroom door behind him and laid the
arrow on the desk, looping the thread over the bathroom doorknob again.

“Your proof, Graham!” he directed quietly.

“Tell them to let go of me. I won’t try to run away!”

Bernard nodded to the sergeant.

“Release his arms, will you? I’ll be responsible for him.”

Sergeant Forbes set free the arm he held. The policeman followed the
example of his superior. Landis moved forward uncertainly, puzzled,
stirred by some mysterious, subconscious excitement the source of which
he could not trace. A quick, warning glance from Bernard brought him to
a halt.

For an instant Graham remained where he was, swaying a little, one hand
pressed to his wounded arm. Then he moved forward and set the arrow
carefully in the groove of the cross-bow. He laid hands on the desk and
with a sudden effort drew it back into the room a foot or so. Stooping
down, he sighted along the arrow from nock to point and thence out the
window.

He rose to his feet again and addressed Bernard.

“Now,” he said quietly, “the arrow points straight through the library
window at the reception-room door. _But there is no allowance for the
drop in its flight!_”

Bernard did not smile.

“I understand,” he said.

Graham moved around the desk and bent his knees until his eyes were on
a level with the head of the arrow. He sighted along it toward the nock.

“Follow the line of it from this direction,” he continued, “and you
will see something that--will--perhaps--surprise you!”

As he spoke he rose a little and his hand darted out to grasp the
black thread still trailing past him from the doorknob to the window.
Watching him, Landis sprang forward with a shout of warning. His cry
was echoed by the vicious twang of the bow and a single, stifled shriek
of agony.

Graham bent forward in a dreadful travesty of an obeisance toward his
conquerors. He swayed an instant, toppled sideways from behind the desk
and lay still, a few feathered inches of the arrow protruding from his
chest.

Bernard walked forward and looked down at the slim figure and the
colorless, high-bred face. The eyes were closed, the delicate features
composed and tranquil.

The old detective turned and they saw that his eyes were bitter with
distaste.

“The responsibility for this is mine,” he said huskily. “There lies our
confession, Landis.”

CHAPTER XXVII

“SO HOME AND TO BED”

With one twitch on a bit of black thread, Graham had made his
confession, his atonement and his escape from the law. A few moments
later Landis descended to the library, telephoned quietly for an
ambulance to come to the door at the end of the wing and rang up the
local prosecutor to make an immediate appointment at his home.

He hung up and walked to the hall doorway. Family and guests were still
at lunch, for no unusual sound had penetrated from the second-floor
wing to the dining-room. Russell and Anita looked up and saw him there
but chose to ignore him. Presently Stimson appeared at the far side of
the table. Landis caught his eye, beckoned to him and stepped back.

Stimson finished his task of the moment, then crossed the hall and
entered the library. Just as he appeared, Bernard came silently through
the door at the far end, having descended the wing stairs. Landis eyed
the butler’s sombre face.

“Stimson,” he said softly, “please don’t raise your voice. Graham has
confessed to the murder of Harrison and has shot himself.”

Stimson’s eyes widened a trifle but that was all.

“He has, sir! I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You’re sorry?” inquired Landis.

“Yes, sir. He was the only gentleman in the house for whom I--but that
is neither here nor there now, sir.”

“You don’t seem surprised, Stimson!”

“Not greatly, sir. I thought it possible.”

“You did, eh? Why, Stimson?” Landis felt slightly chagrined.

“He was so perfect, sir. Too good to be true--in a way of speaking. And
Mr. Harrison gave him many a black look before he died.”

“You didn’t tell us that, Stimson!”

“No, sir. You didn’t ask.”

“Stimson, you’re a cynic!”

“Possibly, sir. Is there anything I can do?”

Landis nodded, aware that he had been rebuffed.

“You can ask Miss Mount to step in here for a moment. Ask her quietly,
please. We don’t want to alarm Mrs. Graham--yet!”

“Very good, sir. I understand.” A wintry smile with just a shade of
respect in it crossed the butler’s morose countenance. “Good day to
you, gentlemen,” he said and withdrew.

The two man-hunters waited, glancing at each other with a certain
discomfort, until Miss Mount appeared in the doorway, advanced a few
paces toward them and stopped.

“Well,” she inquired dryly, “what is it, please?”

“It’s Graham,” replied Bernard. “He has confessed, Miss Mount. Now we
need your help. Graham shot himself!”

“Confessed! Shot himself! You mean he’s--dead?” the woman whispered.
“Oh, God! Poor Ethel!”

Bernard nodded.

“There’ll be an ambulance here at once.” He glanced at Landis and
received a gesture of confirmation. “It will stop at the door at the
end of the wing. Can you keep Mrs. Graham away from that part of the
house? It will be less of a shock to her. She can see him--later.”

Miss Mount’s dark eyes had softened and brimmed with tears. She shook
her head to clear them.

“I will,” she assured them. “I--I suppose you want me to break the news
to her?”

“Perhaps you can do it more kindly than anyone else,” said Bernard in
his gruffest tone. “We’re off now. And the other shadows will lift--in
time.”

Miss Mount stared at him through her tears.

“So you have a heart somewhere!” she murmured huskily.

“I can’t afford it,” replied Bernard. “On the other hand, I never
suspected you, Miss Mount. As to Mrs. Graham, don’t worry too much.
This shock will pass. She has not been married long. And her future is
bright.”

“Her--future--?”

“I think you will find that she has a large fortune. Moreover, she has
found her mother. Why not tell her so, Miss Mount? She’ll need her
mother now. She’s far too sensible to care about the past.”

Miss Mount’s fine eyes never wavered from his, though a slow and
painful blush crept up to stain her white face.

“There are times,” said Bernard quietly, “when pride ought to be dumped
out the window. This is one of them. We’re going now. Mr. Brent will
help you with details. That’s why I telephoned him. Good-by, Miss
Mount.”

She brushed the fresh tears from her eyes and held out her hand to him.

“You’re a good man,” she said. “Good-by.”

“Good-by, Miss Mount,” echoed Landis. With an instinctive desire to
lighten the tragedy in her eyes he added: “I was the one who suspected
you of killing Harrison!”

She turned to look at him, a sudden, still hatred in her glance.

“You thought I would--soil my hands?” she inquired. “Good-by, Mr.
Landis!” There was a biting contempt in her quiet tone more startling
than a shriek of invective.

On that note they left her. Landis knew that her contempt had not been
directed at him. Yet he was rather red about the gills as he followed
Bernard through the billiard-room and the wing hall.

“A woman of strong emotions,” murmured Bernard dryly as they stepped
outdoors and headed toward the garage.

Harley had their car ready for them and their joint bag stowed away
in the back. With Landis at the wheel, they crunched around the house
and down the gravel drive, pulling aside near the gate to admit the
ambulance. It drove quietly past, for Landis had warned the emergency
hospital against a clanging arrival. Outside the grounds he caught a
last glimpse of Harrison’s imposing mansion, then turned his car toward
the home of the local prosecutor.

That official received them with a great deal of interest, an interest
which grew as Landis outlined the case to its sudden and startling
conclusion. He complimented them both and made a point of thanking
Bernard, of whose past achievements he knew. Landis explained that
he would make out his written report at Bernard’s house, sending one
copy to his chief in New York and another back to the prosecutor. He
proposed to stay with Bernard for a day or two, where both would be
available to support the testimony of Sergeant Forbes and his man at
the second inquest.

At length they took their leave and headed for home. They made the
drive almost in silence, each man busy with his own thoughts and each
subdued by the pitiful tragedy of Graham’s crime, which, as always, had
punished the innocent as well as the guilty.

They reached Bernard’s house tired and hungry, for they had had no
lunch. Mrs. Bernard and Elsa fed and made a fuss of them. Afterwards
Bernard went off to his room for a nap while Landis and Elsa took a
walk to discuss such matters as may occur to a newly married couple
very much in love.

After dinner, however, Bernard outlined the history of the case for the
benefit of his wife and her niece.

Landis listened in silence until he had finished. Then he burst out
laughing.

“To hear him, you’d think I solved the mystery! I merely floundered
about. He pulled off a really brilliant and spectacular series of
deductions!”

Bernard shook his head.

“If you hadn’t spotted that line of flight from the library to Miss
Mount’s window and so ruled out the Japanese bow, we’d be nowhere!”

“Well, when did you first suspect Graham?”

“Almost from the beginning, Landis. In fact, I acted suspicious of Miss
Mount to mislead him. He was such a marvelous actor that I almost lost
my suspicion of him. Then he shot himself! There was no motive for
anyone to do that, you see, unless _he_ had one!”

“I don’t see how you came to suspect him at all!”

“There were a dozen things, Landis, if you once considered him! In the
first place, Graham had what you might call a manufactured alibi. No
one actually saw him in the bathroom at the time of the murder. Then
he laid just a trifle too much stress on it--not much but enough. No
one could tell us that Graham had ever been in Joel’s den. Yet he more
or less described it to us when we first questioned him.”

“But that doesn’t prove anything,” said Mrs. Bernard.

“Taken alone, it doesn’t,” her husband admitted with a smile. “But
there’s more. Graham never mentioned the fact that Harrison had taken
him into town the Monday before. Why should they go to town and spend
the day together? Then Harrison’s fortune was two million dollars
short of what Brent expected. Where had the money gone? When had it
gone? Recently--or Brent would have known of it. Well, Harrison had
taken Graham into town with him recently! Moreover, the fact that Miss
Mount’s door was locked during the attempt on Graham made me wonder.
Would she risk that if she had shot him? And would she leave the cord
and thread in her room? Probably they had been planted there by someone
else. Why not Graham who was just across the hall?

“Finally, consider those gloves--”

“How did you know the murderer had used them?” interrupted Landis.

“Because they were _both_ torn! Joel was a neat person. He was not
likely to tear his gloves at all, certainly not both of them in the
same way. And his hands were as large as anybody’s in the household.
Then I remembered Graham’s alibi. Wet hands might have torn both gloves
at the wrists at the same time. And under the intense excitement and
haste of his crime the murderer might not notice what he had done.
Both tears were recent, remember. Once focussed on Graham, I set about
figuring how he could have done it. I may have been wrong on details
here and there but the gist of it was correct. That’s why he killed
himself.”

“And you let him,” murmured Landis.

“I did!” Bernard retorted bluntly. “I’m retired now and I can consider
the suffering of a convicted criminal’s family. You couldn’t have done
it and played fair with your job, Landis! So I did it for you.”

“I’m mighty glad you did, sir!”

Bernard nodded.

“For the rest, Graham obviously lied to us about the exact time that
Anita ran along the hall. That business of burning his wife’s back and
letting Miss Mount tend her opened up a new angle in the case. Finally,
Graham had been afforded such a very tempting opportunity to blackmail
Harrison, if our guess about Ethel and Miss Mount was correct.”

“And I missed it all,” Landis mourned. “But there’s another thing I
want explained. Why in the Sam Hill did you keep me in the dark right
up to the end? Why did you put in all those bits about Joel and Brent
and even Mrs. Graham, as though you suspected them?”

Bernard gave vent to a chuckle of teasing laughter.

“My dear fellow, it was essential that Graham be convinced of your
innocence so far as he was concerned. I wanted you to play up your Miss
Mount theory sincerely. Otherwise, if he thought you suspected him,
too, he would never have tried to get rid of me!”

“The idea of letting him!” snapped Mrs. Bernard.

Her husband smiled.

“There was a very slight amount of risk in offering myself to Graham as
a target,” he admitted whimsically, “even though I was prepared to fall
flat when I pulled the thread. Very dirty I got, too! However, if I had
told you my scheme, Landis, there would have been a great argument
about it. We would have got nowhere that way!”

“You bet there would have been an argument! Wish I’d had the sense to
see what you were doing!”

“I’m glad you hadn’t,” retorted Bernard dryly.

“How did the police get up there?” Landis smiled.

“When I went down for the arrow, I brought them back with me and
stationed them in Miss Mount’s clothes-closet.”

Landis nodded.

“There’s one thing more I don’t understand,” he admitted rather
hesitantly. “We agreed to share our facts. Yet you failed to tell me
that you had discovered that trust fund, sir!”

“I never did discover it. I didn’t look.”

“You didn’t even make inquiries?” demanded Landis.

“To what end?” Bernard’s tone was slightly irritable. “If we failed to
discover such a fund, nothing would be accomplished. It would simply
mean that we had not tackled the right bank. If we did find it, the
fund would merely confirm a theory of which I was already certain. It
wouldn’t help convict Graham. You may be sure there will be nothing
connected with that fund to indicate that back of it lies Graham’s
fine, Italian hand. Until he made the mistake of shooting at himself,
and later at me, he pulled off a really perfect crime!”

“But left his finger-prints in those gloves!”

Bernard gave a bark of laughter.

“My dear Landis! There were no finger-prints in those gloves!”

Landis started and stared.

“And--no expert?”

“And no expert,” admitted Bernard. “There was _no_ proof to
convict Graham!”

“Well I’ll be--darned!”

Bernard chuckled.

“This was just such a case as we discussed before we started. There was
no evidence to convict Graham, so nothing remained but a trap. I played
on the theory that a guilty man will see a subtle trap in everything.
He saw through my tricky method of getting his finger-prints, though
not all the way through it. But he was _too_ alert and _too_
subtle to see the trap I set for him, just because it was so obvious
and so clumsy.”

Landis forgot his own discomfiture in open admiration.

“It was a wonderful piece of work, sir!”

Bernard frowned.

“Nonsense! Graham was clever though, and a really gifted actor. Sending
for us in the first place was a bold touch. But he knew there was no
evidence to convict him. What’s more he was right! Also, consider that
attack on me in the garden! If his shot missed, he’d know nothing
about it. If it struck and killed me, his position would be just the
same. He would know nothing about it but his theory would be that the
desk had moved or the arrow had swerved and the whole thing was a
most regrettable accident. In fact, _he had warned us against the
experiment_!”

“Not as clever as you were,” Landis retorted. “What a fine detective I
turned out to be!”

Bernard laughed.

“You blazed the trail and I skimmed the cream and there’s a mixed
metaphor to suit anybody!”

Elsa suddenly stirred in her chair.

“Well, anyhow, I’m glad it’s over,” she sighed.

“As for Mrs. Graham,” Bernard concluded with a sudden change of tone,
“she’ll forget. She has her mother and her two million. She’ll soon
forget Graham.”

Mrs. Bernard rose briskly to her feet.

“But I won’t!” she snapped. “I knew you’d run risks and probably get
your feet wet! Now to bed with you, all of you!”

THE END

Transcriber’s Note:

Hyphenation, punctuation and spelling, including the word “runction” on
page 168, have been retained as published in the original publication
except as follows:

  Page 105
    damn your dirty hide!” _changed to_
    damn your dirty hide!’”

  Page 179
    “No, sir.” But Mr. Graham _changed to_
    “No, sir. But Mr. Graham

  Page 211
    ‘Maybe. Either he’s honest or _changed to_
    “Maybe. Either he’s honest or

  Page 273
    she said. “Goodby.” _changed to_
    she said. “Good-by.”