“No—­you will find an officer there.  We could not leave the place quite unguarded.”

If she shuddered he did not observe it.  Having summoned up all her forces to meet this ordeal, she followed him without further word, and re-entering the spot she had so lately left in great agony of mind, stopped for one look and for one look only at the sweet face of the dead girl smiling up at her from the cold floor, then she showed Mr. Gryce as nearly as she could just where she had paused in shock and horror when the poor child smitten by the fatal arrow fell back almost into her arms.

The detective, with a glance at the opposite gallery, turned and spoke to the officer who had stepped aside into the neighboring section.

“Take the place just occupied by this lady,” he said, “and hold it till you hear from me again.”  Then offering his arm to Mrs. Taylor, he led her out.

“I see that you were approaching the railing overlooking the court when you were stopped in this fearful manner,” he remarked when well down the gallery toward its lower exit.  “What did you have in mind?  A nearer glimpse of the tapestry over there and the two great vases?”

“No, no.”  She was wrought up by now to a tension almost unendurable.  “It was the court—­what I might see in the court.  Oh!” she impulsively cried:  “the child! the child! that innocent, beautiful child!” And breaking away from his arm, she threw herself against the wall in a burst of uncontrollable weeping.

He allowed her a moment of unrestrained grief, then he took her on his arm again and led her down into the court where he gave her into the charge of Correy.  He had gone as far as he dared in her present hysterical condition.  Besides, he could no longer defer the great experiment by means of which he hoped to reach the heart of this mystery.

Taking the slip of paper handed him by Sweetwater, he crossed the court to where the various visitors, detained, some against their will and some quite in accordance with it, stood about in groups or sat side by side on the long benches placed along the front for their comfort.  As he confronted them, his face beamed with that benevolent smile which had done so much for him in days gone by.  Raising his hand he called attention to himself; then, when he was quite sure of being heard by them all, he addressed them with a quiet emphasis which could not fail to gain and hold their attention: 

“I am Detective Gryce, sent here from Police Headquarters to look into this very serious matter.  Till the Coroner arrives, I am in authority here, and being so, will have to ask your indulgence for any discomfort you may experience in helping me with my investigation.  A young girl, full of life an hour ago, lies dead in the gallery above.  We do not know her name; we do not know who killed her.  But there is some one here who does.  The man or woman who, wittingly or unwittingly, launched that fatal shaft, is present with us in this building.  This person has not spoken.  If he will do so now, he will save us and himself, too, no end of trouble.  Let him speak, then.  I will give him five minutes in which to make this acknowledgment.  Five minutes!  If that man is wise—­or can it be a woman?—­he will not keep us waiting.”