“This unlocks the cabinet at the end of the room,” she said.
“Yes! Let us look now for the famous arrow, or we shall have Monsieur Frobisher displeased with us again,” said Hanaud.
The cabinet stood against the wall at the end of the room opposite to the windows, and close to the door which opened on to the hall. Hanaud took the key, unlocked the door of the cabinet and started back with a “Wow.” He was really startled, for facing him upon a shelf were two tiny human heads, perfect in feature, in hair, in eyes, but reduced to the size of big oranges. They were the heads of Indian tribesmen killed upon the banks of the Amazon, and preserved and reduced by their conquerors by the process common amongst those forests.
“If the arrow is anywhere in this room, it is here that we should find it,” he said, but though he found many curious oddities in that cabinet, of the perfect specimen of a poison arrow there was never a trace. He turned away with an air of disappointment.
“Well then, Mademoiselle, there is nothing else for it,” he said regretfully; and for an hour he searched that room, turning back the carpet, examining the upholstery of the chairs, and the curtains, shaking out every vase, and finally giving his attention to Betty’s secretary. He probed every cranny of it; he discovered the simple mechanism of its secret drawers; he turned out every pigeonhole; working with extraordinary swiftness and replacing everything in its proper place. At the end of the hour the room was as orderly as when he had entered it; yet he had gone through it with a fine-toothed comb.
“No, it is not here,” he said and he seated himself in a chair and drew a breath. “But on the other hand, as the two ladies and Monsieur Frobisher are aware, I was prepared not to find it here.”
“We have finished then?” said Betty, but Hanaud did not stir.
“For a moment,” he replied, “I shall be glad, Monsieur Girardot, if you will remove the seals in the hall from the door at the end of the room.”
The Commissary went out by the way of Mrs. Harlowe’s bedroom, accompanied by his secretary. After a minute had passed a key grated in the lock and the door was opened. The Commissary and his secretary returned into the room from the hall.
“Good!” said Hanaud.
He rose from this chair and looking around at the little group, now grown puzzled and anxious, he said very gravely:
“In the interest of justice I now ask that none of you shall interrupt me by either word or gesture, for I have an experiment to make.”
In a complete silence he walked to the fireplace and rang the bell.
XIV
An Experiment and a Discovery
Gaston answered the bell.
“Will you please send Francine Rollard here,” said Hanaud.
Gaston, however, stood his ground. He looked beyond Hanaud to Betty.
“If Mademoiselle gives me the order,” he said respectfully.
“At once then, Gaston,” Betty replied, and she sat down in a chair.
Francine Rollard was apparently difficult to persuade. For the minutes passed, and when at last she did come into the treasure room she was scared and reluctant. She was a girl hardly over twenty, very neat and trim and pretty, and rather like some wild shy creature out of the woods. She looked round the group which awaited her with restless eyes and a sullen air of suspicion. But it was the suspicion of wild people for townsfolk.
“Rollard,” said Hanaud gently, “I sent for you, for I want another woman to help me in acting a little scene.”
He turned towards Ann Upcott.
“Now, Mademoiselle, will you please repeat exactly your movements here on the night when Madame Harlowe died? You came into the room—so. You stood by the electric-light switch there. You turned it on, you noticed the time, and you turned it off quickly. For this communicating door stood wide open—so!—and a strong light poured out of Madame Harlowe’s bedroom through the doorway.”
Hanaud was very busy, placing himself first by the side of Ann to make sure that she stood in the exact place which she had described, and then running across the room to set wide open the communicating door.
“You could just see the light gleaming on the ornaments and panels of the Sedan chair, on the other side of the fireplace on your right. So! And there, Mademoiselle, you stood in the darkness and,” his words lengthened out now with tiny intervals between each one—“you heard the sound of the struggle in the bedroom and caught some words spoken in a clear whisper.”
“Yes,” Ann replied with a shiver. The solemn manner of authority with which he spoke obviously alarmed her. She looked at him with troubled eyes.
“Then will you stand there once more,” he continued, “and once more listen as you listened on that night. I thank you!” He went away to Betty. “Now, Mademoiselle, and you, Francine Rollard, will you both please come with me.”
He walked towards the communicating door but Betty did not even attempt to rise from her chair.
“Monsieur Hanaud,” she said with her cheeks very white and her voice shaking, “I can guess what you propose to do. But it is horrible and rather cruel to us. And I cannot see how it will help.”
Ann Upcott broke in before Hanaud could reply. She was more troubled even than Betty, though without doubt hers was to be the easier part.
“It cannot help at all,” she said. “Why must we pretend now the dreadful thing which was lived then?”
Hanaud turned about in the doorway.
“Ladies, I beg you to let me have my way. I think that when I have finished, you will yourselves understand that my experiment has not been without its use. I understand of course that moments like these bring their
