“I’m sure it wasn’t any lack of consideration, Mrs. Greene,” Markham assured her earnestly. “The situation probably drove everything momentarily from their minds except the two victims of the shooting.—Tell me this: did you hear any other sounds in Miss Ada’s room after the shot awakened you?”
“I heard the poor girl fall—at least, it sounded like that.”
“But no other noises of any kind? No footsteps, for instance?”
“Footsteps?” She seemed to make an effort to recall her impressions. “No; no footsteps.”
“Did you hear the door into the hall open or close, madam?” It was Vance who put the question.
The woman turned her eyes sharply and glared at him.
“No, I heard no door open or close.”
“That’s rather queer, too, don’t you think?” pursued Vance. “The intruder must have left the room.”
“I suppose he must have, if he’s not there now,” she replied acidly, turning again to the District Attorney. “Is there anything else you’d care to know?”
Markham evidently had perceived the impossibility of eliciting any vital information from her.
“I think not,” he answered; then added: “You of course heard the butler and your son here enter Miss Ada’s room?”
“Oh, yes. They made enough noise doing it—they didn’t consider my feelings in the least. That fuss-budget, Sproot, actually cried out for Chester like a hysterical woman; and, from the way he raised his voice over the telephone, one would have thought Doctor Von Blon was deaf. Then Chester had to rouse the whole house for some unknown reason. Oh, there was no peace or rest for me last night, I can tell you! And the police tramped around the house for hours like a drove of wild cattle. It was positively disgraceful. And here was I—a helpless old woman—entirely neglected and forgotten, suffering agonies with my spine.”
After a few commiserating banalities Markham thanked her for her assistance, and withdrew. As we passed out and walked toward the stairs I could hear her calling out angrily: “Nurse! Nurse! Can’t you hear me? Come at once and arrange my pillows. What do you mean by neglecting me this way … ?”
The voice trailed off mercifully as we descended to the main hall.
IV
The Missing Revolver
(Tuesday, November 9; 3 p.m.)
“The Mater’s a crabbed old soul,” Greene apologized offhandedly when we were again in the drawing-room. “Always grousing about her doting offspring.—Well, where do we go from here?”
Markham seemed lost in thought, and it was Vance who answered.
“Let us take a peep at the servants and hearken to their tale: Sproot for a starter.”
Markham roused himself and nodded, and Greene rose and pulled a silken bell-cord near the archway. A minute later the butler appeared and stood at obsequious attention just inside the room. Markham had appeared somewhat at sea and even uninterested during the investigation, and Vance assumed command.
“Sit down, Sproot, and tell us as briefly as possible just what occurred last night.”
Sproot came forward slowly, his eyes on the floor, but remained standing before the centre-table.
“I was reading Martial, sir, in my room,” he began, lifting his gaze submissively, “when I thought I heard a muffled shot. I wasn’t quite sure, for the automobiles in the street backfire quite loud at times; but at last I said to myself I’d better investigate. I was in negligé, if you understand what I mean, sir; so I slipped on my bathrobe and came down. I didn’t know just where the noise had come from; but when I was halfway down the steps, I heard another shot, and this time it sounded like it came from Miss Ada’s room. So I went there at once, and tried the door. It was unlocked, and when I looked in I saw Miss Ada lying on the floor—a very distressing sight, sir. I called to Mr. Chester, and we lifted the poor young lady to the bed. Then I telephoned to Doctor Von Blon.”
Vance scrutinized him.
“You were very courageous, Sproot, to brave a dark hall looking for the source of a shot in the middle of the night.”
“Thank you, sir,” the man answered, with great humility. “I always try to do my duty by the Greene family. I’ve been with them—”
“We know all that, Sproot.” Vance cut him short. “The light was on in Miss Ada’s room, I understand, when you opened the door.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you saw no one, or heard no noise? No door closing, for instance?”
“No, sir.”
“And yet the person who fired the shot must have been somewhere in the hall at the same time you were there.”
“I suppose so, sir.”
“And he might well have taken a shot at you, too.”
“Quite so, sir.” Sproot seemed wholly indifferent to the danger he had escaped. “But what will be, will be, sir—if you’ll pardon my saying so. And I’m an old man—”
“Tut, tut! You’ll probably live a considerable time yet—just how long I can’t, of course, say.”
“No, sir.” Sproot’s eyes gazed blankly ahead. “No one understands the mysteries of life and death.”
“You’re somewhat philosophic, I see,” drily commented Vance. Then: “When you phoned to Doctor Von Blon, was he in?”
“No, sir; but the night nurse told me he’d be back any minute, and that
