The House of the Arrow

Ann Upcott in the Treasure Room heard the sound of a struggle and the whisper, “That will do now.” Ann Upcott’s story may be partly or wholly false. She knew that Mrs. Harlowe’s bedroom was to be opened and examined. If she also knew that the pearl necklace had disappeared, she must have realised that it would be advisable for her to tell some story before its disappearance was discovered, which would divert suspicion from her. (3) It is clear that whoever committed the murder, if murder was committed, Betty Harlowe had nothing to do with it. She had an ample allowance. She was at M. Pouillac’s Ball on the night. Moreover, once Mrs. Harlowe was dead, the necklace became Betty Harlowe’s property. Had she committed the murder, the necklace would not have disappeared. It is possible that the disappearance of the necklace is in no way connected with the murder, if murder there was. (4) Who then are possibly guilty? (i) The servants. (i) All of them have many years of service to their credit. It is not possible that any of them would have understood enough of the Treatise on Strophanthus Hispidus to make use of it. If any of them were concerned it can only be as an accessory or assistant working under the direction of another.

(ii) Jeanne Baudin the nurse.

More attention might be given to her. It is too easily accepted that she has nothing to do with it.

No one suspects her. Her record is good.

(iii) Francine Rollard. She was certainly frightened this afternoon. The necklace would be a temptation.

Was it she who bent over Ann Upcott in the darkness?

She was frightened of the police as a class, rather than of being accused of a crime. She acted her part in the reconstruction scene without breaking down. If she were concerned, it could only be for the reason given above, as an assistant.

(iv) Ann Upcott.

Her introduction into the Maison Grenelle took place through Waberski and under dubious circumstances. She is poor, a paid companion, and the necklace is worth a considerable fortune.

Her introductions may be explicable on favourable grounds. Until we know more of her history it is impossible to judge. She was in the house on the night of Mrs. Harlowe’s death. She told Gaston he could turn out the lights and go to bed early that evening. She could easily have admitted Waberski and received the necklace as the price of her complicity. Her account of the night of the 27th April may be true from beginning to end.

The story she told us in the garden may have been the true story of what occurred adapted. It may have been she who whispered “That will do now.” She may have whispered it to Waberski.

Her connection with Waberski was sufficiently close to make him count upon Ann’s support in his charge against Betty.

In that case the theory of a murder is enormously strengthened. But who whispered, “That will do now”? And who was bending over Ann Upcott when she waked up?

(v) Waberski.

He is a scoundrel, a would-be blackmailer.

He was in straits for money and he expected a thumping legacy from Mrs. Harlowe.

He may have brought Ann Upcott into the house with the thought of murder in his mind.

Having failed to obtain any profit from his crime, he accuses Betty of the same crime as a blackmailing proposition.

As soon as he knew that Mrs. Harlowe had been exhumed and an autopsy made he collapsed. He knew, if he had used himself the poison arrow, that no trace of poison would be found.

He knew of Jean Cladel, and according to his own story was in the Rue Gambetta close to Jean Cladel’s shop. It is possible that he himself had been visiting Cladel to pay for the solution of Strophanthus.

But he would have collapsed equally if he had believed that no murder had been committed at all.

If murder was committed the two people most obviously suspect are Ann Upcott and Waberski working in collusion.

To this conclusion Jim Frobisher was reluctantly brought, but even whilst writing it down there were certain questions racing through his mind to which he could find no answer. He was well aware that he was an utter novice in such matters as the investigation of crimes; and he recognised that were the answers to these questions known to him, some other direction might be given to his thoughts.

Accordingly he wrote those troublesome questions beneath his memorandum⁠—thus:

But

1. Why does Hanaud attach no importance to the return of the Treatise on Strophanthus Hispidus to its place in the library?

2. What was it which so startled him upon the top of the Terrace Tower?

3. What was it that he had in his mind to say to me at the Café in the Place D’Armes and in the end did not say?

4. Why did Hanaud search every corner of the treasure room for the missing poison arrow⁠—except the interior of the Sedan chair?

The noise of a door gently closing aroused him from his speculations. He looked across the room. Hanaud had just entered it from the bedroom, shutting the communicating door behind him. He stood with his hand upon the doorknob gazing at Frobisher with a curious startled stare. He moved swiftly to the end of the table at which Jim was sitting.

“How you help me!” he said in a low voice and smiling. “How you do help me!”

Alert though Jim’s ears were to a note of ridicule, he could discover not a hint of it. Hanaud was speaking with the utmost sincerity, his eyes very bright and his heavy face quite changed by that uncannily sharp expression which Jim had learned to associate with some new find in the development of the case.

“May I see what you have written?” Hanaud asked.

“It could be of no value to you,” Jim replied modestly, but Hanaud would have none of it.

“It is always of value to know what the other man thinks, and even more what the other man sees. What did