You can imagine the flurry, the excitement and the blank looks of the average men and women he addressed.  But not one hesitated to obey.  Mrs. Lee was on the farther side of one of the statues before her name had more than left his lips.  Her example set the pace for those who followed.  Like soldiers at roll-call, each one responded to the summons, going now in one direction and now in another until on reaching the proper spot he or she stopped.

Only six persons followed the Curator upstairs—­an old woman who shook her head violently as she plodded slowly up the marble steps; Correy; a man with a packet of books under his arm (the same who had been studying coins in Section II); a young couple whose movements showed such a marked reluctance that more than one eye followed them as they went hesitatingly up, clinging together with interlocking hands and stopping now on one step and now on another to stare at each other in visible consternation; and a boy of fourteen who grinned from ear to ear as he bounded gayly up three steps at a time and took his position on the threshold of one of the upper doors with all the precision of a soldier called to sentry-duty—­a boy scout if ever there was one.

There were twenty-two names on the list, and with the calling out of the twenty-second, Mr. Gryce perceived the space before him entirely cleared of its odd assortment of people.  As he turned to take a look at the result, a gleam of satisfaction crossed his time-worn face.  By this scheme, which he may be pardoned for looking upon as a stroke of genius worthy of his brilliant prime, he had set back time a full hour, restoring as by a magician’s wand the conditions of that fatal moment of initial alarm.  Surely, with the knowledge of that hidden bow in his mind, he should be able now to place his hand upon the person who had made use of it to launch the fatal arrow.  No one, however sly of foot and quick of action, could have gone far from the gallery where that bow lay in the few minutes which were all that could have elapsed between the shooting of the arrow and the gasping cry which had brought all within hearing to the Apache section.  The man or woman whom he should find nearest to that concealed door in the northern gallery would have to give a very good account of himself.  Not even the Curator would escape suspicion under those circumstances.

However, it is only fair to add that Mr. Gryce had no fear of any such embarrassing end to his inquisition as that.  He had noticed the young couple who had betrayed their alarm so ingenuously to every eye, and had already decided within himself that the man was just such a fool as might in a moment of vacuity pick up a bow and arrow to test his skill at a given mark.  Such things had been and such results had followed.  The man was a gawk and the woman a ninny; a few questions and their guiltiness would appear—­that is, if they should be found near enough the tapestry to warrant his suspicion.  If not—­the alternative held an interest all its own, and sent him in haste toward the stairway.