IX
WHILE THE CITY SLEPT
Night--the night of a great city with its myriad of garish lights and itsmany curious and incongruous activities.
Who has not felt his imagination stirred by the contrasts thusoffered--contrasts never more apparent than at these hours of supposedrest? Grim walls, with dimpled children sleeping behind them! Places ofmerrymaking athrob with music and dazzling with jets of incandescentlight, with grief in the heart of the dancer and despair making raucousthe enforced laugh!
But nowhere in the great city of which we write on this night of May 23,1913, was there to be found a scene of greater contradictions than in thecourt and galleries of its famous museum.
Lighted as for a reception, the architectural beauties of its Moorisharcades and carven balustrades flashed in full splendor. Gems of antiqueart, casts in which genius had stored its soul and caused to live beforeus the story of the ancients, pillars from desert sands, friezes from theParthenon and bas-reliefs from Nineveh and Heliopolis, filled everycorner, commanding the eye to satisfy itself in forms of deathless graceor superhuman power. And no one to heed! Not an eye to note that theVenus in one corner seemed to smile in the soft light with more than itsaccustomed allurement, or that the armor in which kings had fought wore amenacing sparkle exceeding that of other times and quieter days. Ghostsof vanished ages might parade at will among the chattels of their time ordrain the iridescent beaker to their unknown gods--no one would havenoticed or turned aside to see. For there was something else within thesewalls to-night for the men assembled there to look upon, and a story tobe read which shut the imagination upon the past by amply filling it withthe present.
What is this something? Let us follow the gaze of the half-dozen personsgrouped in front of the tapestry hanging in the northern gallery, andsee.
But first, of whom is this small and mystic group composed? Who are thesemen who in the middle of the night, in the security of a completelyshuttered building, busy themselves, not with the inestimable treasuressurrounding them, but with an odd and seemingly mountebank adventuretotally out of keeping with the place and their absorbed demeanor? Wewill name them:
Mr. Roberts and a second director seen here for the first time, InspectorJackson, Mr. Gryce, two lesser detectives, and a strange young man ofundoubted Indian extraction who kept much in the background and yet stoodalways at attention like one awaiting orders.
Are these all? Yes, in the one gallery; but in the other, shadowy figuresare visible among the arches at one end, with whose identity we shallprobably soon be made acquainted.
At what are these various persons, in the one gallery as in the other,looking so intently that all are turned one way--the way of greatestinterest--the way the fatal arrow had flown some fourteen hours before,carrying death to the innocent girl smiling upon life in youthfulexuberance? Is it at some image of herself they see restored to hope andjoy? An image is there, but alas! it is but a dummy taken from one of theexhibits and so set up as to present the same angle to the gallery-frontas her young body had done, according to Mr. Travis' reluctantdeclaration.
Why so placed, and why regarded with such concentrated interest by themen confronting it from the opposite gallery, will become apparent when,upon the Indian's being summoned from his place of modest retirement, itcan be seen that the bow he carries in one hand is offset by the arrow heholds in the other. A test is to be made which will settle, or so theyhope, the truth of Mr. Travis' story. If an arrow launched from beforethe pedestal or even from behind it through the loophole made by thecurving-in of the vase toward its base can be made to reach its mark inthe breast of this dummy, then they would feel some justification indoubting his statement that the arrow, whatever the appearances, was notshot from this gallery. If it could not, belief in his statements wouldbe confirmed and their minds be cleared of a doubt which must hamper alltheir future movements.
The second director, whose name was Clayton, stood at the left of theInspector and close against the tapestry. To him that official now turnedwith this explanation:
"The bow you see in Mr. La Fleche's hand is similar in length and weightto the one found lying strung for use in the doorway back of where youare now standing. The arrow is from the same quiver as the one whichentered Miss Willetts' breast.... Did you speak?"
No, Mr. Clayton had not spoken; yet for some reason a thrill had passedthrough the small group surrounding him, which had heightened theconsciousness of them all. Eyes and ears became alert; only the Indianshowed stolidity.
"Mr. La Fleche, you will first stand here," continued the Inspector,pointing to the spot which Mr. Travis had finally settled upon as the onewhere he had been standing at the moment he saw Miss Willetts fall.
The Indian took the place, sighted the figure diagonally opposite andlaid his finger on the string.
"An inch to the left of the bunch of flowers pinned on the dummy'sbreast," murmured Mr. Gryce almost in his ear.
It was a breathless moment; even the two detectives showed excitement.
But the Indian failed to shoot. Instead, he looked around at theInspector and quietly remarked:
"I will shoot standing, since you so request, but I think you will findthat the arrow which caused death was delivered by a man kneeling."
A flash of the eye between the two detectives, which only one man saw!All the others were watching the lightning flight of the arrow. It struckthe dummy full and square. Everyone shuddered, even the Inspector; itbrought the real tragedy so vividly to mind.
Meanwhile a movement had taken place in the small group of men watchingfrom the other side. One of them stepped fully into view and approachingthe figure thus attacked, drew out the arrow and made close examinationof the hole it had made and shook his head. It was Coroner Price.
"Try again, and from behind the pedestal this time," he called out acrossthe intervening space as he stepped back into his former place ofobservation.
The Inspector motioned his wishes to the Indian, who with a subtle twistof his body slipped behind the pedestal.
"That's better," was the Inspector's quick comment. "Can you handle thebow easily from where you now stand?"
"There is plenty of room."
"Very well. But wait! Before we proceed further, there is a matter towhich I wish to call the attention of these gentlemen. It must have beenapparent to you all that a person standing where Mr. La Fleche did amoment ago would be easily visible to anyone looking up from the court oracross from the opposite gallery, or even from the broad corridors ateither end of the building. But would the same hold true if instead ofbeing in front he had been behind the pedestal, as Mr. La Fleche is now?Run below, Barney; and, gentlemen, disperse yourselves in differentdirections and give me your opinion. Now!" he demanded after a fewminutes' wait, during which there had been a scattering to right and leftalong the galleries, "what do you say?"
"If anyone chanced to be looking directly there, yes," was shouted upfrom below.
"What do you say, Coroner Price?"
"Ask the man to kneel."
The Inspector gave the word.
"Ah, that's different! The bulge of the vase hides the upper part of hishead, and the pedestal itself the lower. He might shoot from his presentposition with impunity."
"Do you all agree?"
"Yes, yes!" came from different parts of the building.
"Then, Mr. La Fleche, here's another arrow from the same quiver. Takefresh aim and shoot."
Another breathless moment--more breathless than the other; then a secondarrow flew across the court and hung quivering in the breast of thedummy.
From both ends of the gallery men came running, and leaning eagerly overthe gallery-rail they watched the Coroner as he stepped again into viewto make a second examination.
This time he kept them several minutes in suspense, and when he had drawnout the arrow, he looked long at the hole it had made. Then, instead ofshouting his decision across the court, he could be seen leaving thegallery and coming
around their way.
What had he to say? As they waited, a clock struck from some neighboringsteeple--three sonorous peals! The two directors glanced at each other.Doubtless they felt the weirdness of the hour as well as of the occasion.It was a new experience for these amateurs in police procedure.
Arrived on their side, the Coroner advanced quickly. When close upon thereassembled group, he remarked quickly but with great decision:
"Mr. Travis seems to have been correct in denying that the arrow fleweither from before or behind this pedestal. The first arrow sent by Mr.La Fleche entered the dummy almost at a right angle; the last departedbut a little from this same line. But the real wound which I probed andlocated to a hair was a decidedly slanting one. It must have been sentfrom a place further off."
"From behind the other pedestal!" spoke up Mr. Gryce, all fire andinterest at once. "Either the Englishman deceived us, or each pedestalhad its man."
"We'll see! Another shot, and from behind the further pedestal, Mr. LaFleche!"
The Indian glided into view and started for the other end of thetapestry, followed by the Inspector, his detectives and the twodirectors. As they passed one by one across the face of the greathanging, they had the appearance not of living men but of a parade ofspecters, so silent their step and so somber their air. The dread of somedevelopment hitherto unacknowledged made their movements slow instead ofhasty. The upper pedestal instead of the lower! Why should this possiblefact make any difference in their feelings. Yet it did--perhaps becauseit meant deception on the part of one they had instinctively believedtrustworthy, or--
But why pursue conjecture when actuality only is of moment? Let usproceed with our relation and await the result.
Arrived at the upper pedestal, Mr. La Fleche took his place, received thethird arrow and presently delivered it. The Coroner, who had alreadystarted for the other side, hastily approached the dummy, made hisexamination and threw up his hand with the loud shout:
"The shot was made from there; the matter is settled!"
Question: Had Mr. Travis wilfully misled them, or had the presumption inhis favor been strengthened by this proof that it had been shown possiblefor another hand than his to have shot the arrow from this same sectionof the gallery, without disturbing his belief that he was the only personin it at the time?
The Mystery of the Hasty Arrow Page 9
