The Mystery of the Hasty Arrow Read online

  VI

  THE MAN IN THE GALLERY

  Beckoning to Sweetwater, Mr. Gryce pointed out this extra man and askedhim if he recognized him as one of the twenty-two he had tabulated.

  The answer was a vigorous no. "It's a new face to me. He must havedropped from the roof or come up through the flooring. He certainlywasn't anywhere about when I made out my list. He looks a trifle hipped,eh?"

  "Troubled--decidedly troubled."

  "You might go a little further and say done up."

  "Good-looking, though. Appears to be of foreign birth."

  "English, I should say, and just over."

  "English, without a doubt. I'll go speak to him; you wait here, but watchout for the Coroner, and send him my way as soon as he's at leisure."

  Then he reapproached the bench, and observing, with the keenness withwhich he observed everything without a direct look, that with each stephe took the stranger's confusion increased, he decided to wait till afterhe had finished with the others, before he entered upon an inquiry whichmight prove not only lengthy but of the first importance.

  He was soon very glad that he had done this. He got nothing from Mr.Simpson; but the questions put to Mr. Turnbull were more productive.Almost at the first word, this gentleman acknowledged that he had seena movement in the great square of tapestry to which Mr. Gryce drew hisattention. He did not know when, or just where he stood at the time,but he certainly had noticed it shake.

  "Can you describe the movement?" asked the gratified detective.

  "It swayed out----"

  "As if blown by some wind?"

  "No, more as if pushed forward by a steady hand."

  "Good! And what then?"

  "It settled back almost without a quiver."

  "Instantly?"

  "No, not instantly. A moment or two passed before it fell back intoplace."

  "This was before the attendant Correy called out his alarm, of course?"

  Yes, of course it was before; but how long before, he couldn't say. Aminute--two minutes--five minutes--how could he tell! He had no watch inhand.

  Mr. Gryce thought possibly he might assist the man's memory on this pointbut forbore to do so at the time. It was enough for his present purposethat the necessary link to the establishment of his theory had beenfound. No more doubt now that the bow lying in the niche of the doorwayoverhead had been the one made use of in this desperate tragedy; and theway thus cleared for him, he could confidently proceed in his search forthe man who had flung it there. He believed him to be within his reach atthat very moment, but his countenance gave no index to his thought asreapproaching the young man now sitting all alone on the bench, he haltedbefore him and pleasantly inquired:

  "Do I see you for the first time? I thought we had listed the name ofevery person in the building. How is it that we did not get yours?"

  The tide of color which instantly flooded the young man's countenanceastonished Mr. Gryce both by its warmth and fullness. If he were asthin-skinned as this betokened, one should experience but littledifficulty in reaching the heart of his trouble.

  With an air of quiet interest Mr. Gryce sat down by the young man's side.Would this display of friendliness have the effect of restoring some ofhis self-possession and giving him the confidence he evidently lacked?No, the red fled from his cheek, and a ghastly white took its place; buthe showed no other change.

  Meantime the detective studied his countenance. It was a good one, butjust now so distorted by suffering that only such as were familiar withhis every look could read his character from his present expression.Would a more direct question rouse him? Possibly. At all events, Mr.Gryce decided to make the experiment.

  "Will you give me your name?" he asked, "--your name and residence?"

  The man he addressed gave a quick start, pulled himself together and madean attempt to reply.

  "My name is Travis. I am an Englishman just off the steamer fromSouthampton. My home is in the county of Hertfordshire. I have noresidence here."

  "Your hotel, then?"

  Another flush--then quickly: "I have not yet chosen one."

  This was too surprising for belief. A stranger in town without rooms orhotel accommodations, making use of the morning hours to visit a museum!

  "You must be very much interested in art!" observed his inquisitor alittle dryly.

  Again that flush and again the quick-recurring pallor.

  "I--I am interested in all things beautiful," he replied at last inbroken tones.

  "I see. May I ask where you were when that arrow flew which killed ayoung lady visitor? Not in this part of the court, I take it?"

  Mr. Travis gave a quick shudder and that was all. The detective waited,but no other answer came.

  "I am told that as she fell she uttered one cry. Did you hear it, Mr.Travis?"

  "It wasn't a cry," was his quick reply. "It was something quitedifferent, but dreadful, dreadful!"

  Mr. Gryce's manner changed.

  "Then you did hear it. You were near enough to distinguish between ascream and a gasp. Where were you, and why weren't you seen by my manwhen he went through the building?"

  "I--I was kneeling out of sight--too shocked to move. But I grew tired ofthat and wanted to go; but on reaching the court, I found the doorsclosed. So I came here."

  "Kneeling! Where were you kneeling?"

  He made a quick gesture in the direction of the galleries.

  The detective frowned, perhaps to hide his secret satisfaction.

  "Won't you be a little more definite?" he asked; then as the mancontinued to hesitate he added, but as yet without any appreciable lossof kindliness: "Every other person here has been good enough to show usthe exact place he was occupying at that serious moment. I must ask youto do the same; it is only just."

  Was the look this called up one of fear or of simple repugnance? It mightbe either; but the detective was disposed to consider it fear.

  "Will you lead the way?" he pursued. "I shall be glad to follow."

  A glance of extreme reproach; then these words, uttered with painfulintensity:

  "You want me to go back there--where I saw--where I can see again--_Icannot_. I'm not well. I suffer. You will excuse me. You will allow me tosay what I have to say, _here_."

  "I'm sorry, but I cannot do that. The others have gone without questionto their places; why should not you?"

  "Because----" The word came brokenly and was followed by silence. Then,seeing the hopelessness of contending with police authority, he castanother glance of strong repulsion in the direction of the gallery andstarted to his feet. Mr. Gryce did the same, and together they crossedthe court. But they got no further at this time than the foot of thestaircase. Coroner Price, by an extra effort which seemed to be calledfor by the circumstances, had succeeded in picking up a jury from thepeople collected on the street, and entering at this moment, created adiversion which effectively postponed the detective's examination of hisnew witness.

  When the opportunity came for resuming it, so much time had elapsed thatMr. Gryce looked for some decided change in the manner or bearing of theman who, unfortunately for his purposes, had thus been given a quiet hourin which to think. Better, much better, for the cause of justice, if hecould have pushed him to the point at once, harried him, as it were, inhot blood. Now he might find him more difficult.

  But when, in company with the Coroner, who now found himself free toassist him in his hunt for witnesses, he reapproached the Englishmansitting as before alone on his bench, it was to find him to allappearance in the same mind in which he had left him. He wore the samelook and followed with the same reluctance when he was made to understandthat the time had now come for him to show just where he was standingwhen that arrow was sped on its death-course. And greatly impressed bythis fact, which in a way contradicted all his expectations, Mr. Grycetrod slowly after, watching with the keenest interest to see whether, onreaching the top of the steps, this man upon whose testimony so muchdepended would turn toward the
southern gallery where the girl hadfallen, or toward the northern one, where Correy had found the bow.

  It looked as if he were going to the left, for his head turned that wayas he cleared the final step. But his body soon swayed aside in the otherdirection, and by the time the old detective had himself reached thelanding, Travis, closely accompanied by the Coroner, had passed throughthe first of the three arches leading to that especial section of thegallery where the concealing tapestry hung.

  "The man is honest," was Mr. Gryce's first thought. "He is going to showus the bow and confess to what was undoubtedly an accident." But Mr.Gryce felt more or less ready to modify this impromptu conclusion when,on passing through the arch himself he came upon the young man stillstanding in Section VI, with his eyes on the opposite gallery and hiswhole frame trembling with emotion.

  "Is she--the young lady who was shot--still lying on those cold stonesalone, forsaken and----"

  Mr. Gryce knew misery when he saw it. This man had not overstated thecase when he had said "I suffer." But the cause! To what could thisexcess of sensibility be attributed? To remorse or to an exaggeratedpersonal repulsion? It looked like remorse, but that there might be nodoubt as to this, Mr. Gryce hastened to assure the Englishman that on thedeparture of the jury the body had been removed to one of the innerrooms. The relief which this gave to Mr. Travis was evident. He showed nofurther reluctance to proceed and was indeed the first of the three toenter where the great drapery hung, flanked by the two immense vases.Would he pause before it or hurry by into the broad corridor in front? Ifhe hurried by, what would become of their now secretly accepted theory?

  But he did not hurry by; that is, he did not pass beyond the upper end,but stopped when he got there and looked back with an air of extremedeprecation at the two officials.

  "Have we arrived?" asked Mr. Gryce, his suspicions all returning, for theman had stepped aside from the drapery and was standing in a spotconspicuously open to view even from the lower court.

  The Englishman nodded; whereupon Mr. Gryce, approaching to his side,exclaimed in evident doubt:

  "You were standing _here_? When? Not at the moment the young girl fell,or you would have been seen by some one, if not by everyone, in thebuilding. I want you to take the exact place you occupied when you firstlearned that something had gone wrong in the opposite gallery."

  The stranger's distress grew. With a show of indecision scarcelycalculated to inspire confidence in either of the two men watching him,he moved now here and now there till he finally came to a standstillclose by the pedestal--so close, indeed, to its inner corner that he wasalmost in a line with its rear.

  "It was here," he declared with a gulp of real feeling. "I am sure I amright now. I had just stepped out----"

  "From behind the tapestry?"

  "No." His blank astonishment at the quickness with which he had beencaught up left him staring for a moment at the speaker, before headded:

  "From behind the pedestal. The--the vase, as you see, is a very curiousone. I wanted to look at it from all sides."

  Without a word the Coroner slipped past him and entering the narrow spacebehind the pedestal took a look up at the vase from his present crampedposition.

  As he did this, two things happened: first Sweetwater, who had stolenupon the scene, possibly at some intimation from Mr. Gryce, took a steptoward them which brought him in alignment with the Englishman, of whoseheight in comparison with his own he seemed to take careful note; andsecondly, the sensitive skin of the foreigner flushed red again as henoticed the Coroner's sarcastic smile, and heard his dry remark:

  "One gets a better view here of the opposite gallery than of the vaseperched so high overhead. Had you wished to look at those ladies, withoutbeing seen by them, you could hardly have found a better loophole thanthe one made by the curving in of this great vase toward its base." Thenquickly: "You surely took one look their way; that would be onlynatural."

  The answer Mr. Travis gave was certainly unexpected.

  "It was after I came out that I saw them," he stammered. "There were twoladies, one tall and one very young and slight. The older lady wasstepping toward the front, the other entering from behind. As I looked,the younger made a dash and ran by the first lady. Then----"

  "Proceed, Mr. Travis. Your emotion is very natural; but it is imperativethat we hear all you have to tell us. She ran by the older lady, andthen?"

  Still silence. The Englishman appeared to be looking at Coroner Price,who in speaking emerged from behind the pedestal; but it is doubtful ifhe saw him. A tear was in his eye--a tear!

  Seeing it, Mr. Gryce felt a movement of compassion, and thinking to helphim, said kindly enough:

  "Was it so very dreadful?"

  The answer came with great simplicity:

  "Yes. One minute she was all life and gaiety; the next she was lyingoutstretched on the hard floor."

  "And you?"

  Again that look of ingenuous surprise.

  "I don't remember about myself," he said. "I was thinking too much abouther. I never saw anyone killed before."

  "Killed? Why do you say killed? You say you saw her fall, but how did youknow she was killed?"

  "I saw the arrow in her breast. As she fell backward, I saw the arrow."

  As he uttered these words, the three men watching him perceived the sweatstart out on his forehead, and his eyes take on a glassy stare. It was asif he were again in gaze upon that image of youthful loveliness fallingto the ground with the arrow of death in her heart. The effect wasstrangely moving. To see this event reflected as it were in horror fromthis man's consciousness made it appear more real and much moreimpressive than when contemplated directly. Why? Had remorse given it itspoignancy? Had it been his own hand which had directed this arrow frombehind the pedestal? If not, why this ghastly display of an emotion sofar beyond what might be expected from the most sentimental of onlookers?

  In an endeavor to clear the situation, the Coroner intervened with thefollowing question:

  "Have you ever seen a shot made by a bow and arrow before, Mr. Travis?Archery-practice, I mean. Or--well, the shooting of wild animals inIndia, Africa or elsewhere?"

  "Oh, yes. I come from a country where the bow and arrow are used. But Inever shoot. I can only speak of what I have seen others do."

  "That is sufficient. You ought to be able to tell, then, from whatdirection this arrow came."

  "It--it must have come from this side of the gallery. Not from thissection, as you call it, but from some one of the other open places alonghere."

  "Why not from this one?"

  "Because there was nobody here but me," was the simple and seeminglyingenuous answer.

  It gave them an unexpected surprise. Innocence would speak in thisfashion. But then the bow--the bow which was lying not a dozen feet fromwhere they stood! Nothing could eliminate that bow.

  After a short consultation between themselves, which the Englishmanseemed not to notice, the Coroner addressed him with the soothing remark:

  "Mr. Travis, you must not misunderstand me. The accident which hasoccurred (we will not yet say crime) is of so serious a nature that it isimperative for us to get at the exact facts. Only yourself and one otherperson whom we know can supply them. I allude to the lady you saw, firstin front of and then behind the girl who was shot. Her story has beentold. Yours will doubtless coincide with it. May I ask you, then, tosatisfy us on a point you were in a better position than herself to takenote of. It is this: When the young girl gave that bound forward of whichyou both speak, did she make straight for the railing in front, or didshe approach it in a diagonal direction?"

  "I do not know. You distress me very much. I was not thinking of anythinglike that. Why should I think of anything so immaterial. She came--I sawher smiling, beaming with joy, a picture of lovely youth--then her armswent suddenly up and she fell--backward--the arrow showing in her breast.If I told the story a hundred times, I could not tell it differently."

  "We do not wish you to, Mr. T
ravis. Only there must be somewhere in yourmind a recollection of the angle which her body presented to the railingas she came forward."

  The unhappy man shook his head, at which token of helplessness Mr. Grycebeckoned to Sweetwater and whispered a few words in his ear. The mannodded and withdrew, going the length of the gallery, where hedisappeared among the arches, to reappear shortly after in the galleryopposite. When he reached Section II, Mr. Gryce again addressed thewitness, who, to his surprise and to that of the Coroner as well, hadbecome reabsorbed in his own thoughts to the entire disregard of whatthis movement might portend. It took a sharp word to rouse him.

  "I am going to ask you to watch the young man who has just shown himselfon the other side, and tell us to what extent his movements agree withthose made by the young lady prior to her collapse and fall to thefloor."

  For an instant indignation robbed the stranger of all utterance. Then heburst forth:

  "You would make a farce of what is so sad and dreadful, and she scarcelycold! It is dishonoring to the young lady. I cannot look at that youngman--that hideous young man--and think of her and of how she looked andwalked the instant before her death."

  The two officials smiled; they could not help it. Sweetwater wascertainly no beauty, and to associate him in any kind of physicalcomparison with the dead girl was certainly incongruous. Yet they bothfelt that the point just advanced by them should be settled and settlednow while the requisite remembrance was fresh in the mind of thisinvaluable witness. But in order to get at what they wanted, some showof consideration for his feelings was evidently necessary. Policepersistence often defeats its own ends. If he was to be made to do whatthey wished, it would have to be through the persuasion of some oneoutside the Force. To whom should they appeal? The question answereditself. Mr. Roberts was approaching from the front, and to him theyturned. Would he use his influence with this stranger?

  "He may listen to you," urged the Coroner in the whispered conferencewhich now followed, "if you explain to him how much patience you and allthe rest of the people in the building have had to exercise in thisunhappy crisis. He seems a good enough fellow, but not in line with ourideas."

  Mr. Roberts, who saw the man for the first time, surveyed him inastonishment.

  "Where was he standing?" he asked.

  "Just where you see him now--or so he says."

  "He couldn't have been. Some one would have observed him--the woman whowas in the compartment with the stricken girl, or the man studying coinsin the one next to it."

  "So it would seem," admitted the Coroner. "But if he were behind thepedestal----"

  "Behind the pedestal!"

  "That's where we think he was. But no matter about that now!--we canexplain that to you later. At present all we want is for you to reassurehim."

  Not altogether pleased with his task, but seeing no good reason fordeclining it, the affable director approached the Englishman, who,recognizing one of his own social status, seemed to take heart and turna willing ear to Mr. Roberts' persuasions. The result was satisfactory.

  When the Coroner again called Mr. Travis' attention to Sweetwaterawaiting orders in the opposite gallery he did not refuse to look, thoughhis whole manner showed how much he was affected by this forcedacquiescence in their plans.

  "You will watch the movements of the young man we have placed overthere," the Coroner had said; "and when he strikes a positioncorresponding to that taken by the young lady at the moment she was shot,lift up your hand, thus. I will not ask you to speak."

  "But you forget that there is blood on that floor. That man will step init. I cannot lend myself to such sacrilege. It is wrong. Let the lady beburied first."

  The outburst was so natural, the horror so unfeigned, that not only themen he addressed but all within hearing showed the astonishment itcaused.

  "One would think you knew the victim of this random shot!" the Coronerintimated with a fresh and close scrutiny of this very reluctant witness."Did you? Was she a friend of yours?"

  "No, no!" came in quick disavowal. "No friend. I have never exchanged aword with her--never."

  "Then we will proceed. One cannot consider sensibilities in a case likethis." And he made a signal to Sweetwater, who turned his body this wayand that.

  The distressed Englishman watched these movements with slowly dilatingeyes.

  "It's the angle we want--the angle at which she presented her body to thegallery front," explained the relentless official.

  A shudder, then the rigidity of fixed attention, broken in anothermoment, however, by an impulsive movement and the unexpected question:

  "Is it to find the man who did it that you are enacting this horriblefarce?"

  Somewhat startled, the Coroner retorted:

  "If you object on that account----"

  But Mr. Travis as vehemently exclaimed:

  "But I don't! I want the man caught. One should not shoot arrows about ina place where there are beautiful young women. I want him caught andpunished."

  As they were all digesting this unexpected avowal, they saw his hand goup. The Coroner gave a low whistle, and the detective in obedience to itstood for one instant stock-still--then bent quickly to the floor.

  "What is he doing?" cried Mr. Travis.

  "Yes, what is he doing?" echoed Mr. Roberts.

  "Running a mark about his shoes to fix their exact location," was thegrim response.