“No, no!” came in quick disavowal.  “No friend.  I have never exchanged a word with her—­never.”

“Then we will proceed.  One cannot consider sensibilities in a case like this.”  And he made a signal to Sweetwater, who turned his body this way and that.

The distressed Englishman watched these movements with slowly dilating eyes.

“It’s the angle we want—­the angle at which she presented her body to the gallery front,” explained the relentless official.

A shudder, then the rigidity of fixed attention, broken in another moment, however, by an impulsive movement and the unexpected question: 

“Is it to find the man who did it that you are enacting this horrible farce?”

Somewhat startled, the Coroner retorted: 

“If you object on that account——­”

But Mr. Travis as vehemently exclaimed: 

“But I don’t!  I want the man caught.  One should not shoot arrows about in a place where there are beautiful young women.  I want him caught and punished.”

As they were all digesting this unexpected avowal, they saw his hand go up.  The Coroner gave a low whistle, and the detective in obedience to it stood for one instant stock-still—­then bent quickly to the floor.

“What is he doing?” cried Mr. Travis.

“Yes, what is he doing?” echoed Mr. Roberts.

“Running a mark about his shoes to fix their exact location,” was the grim response.

VII

“You think that of me!”

“We’re certainly up against it this time,” were the words with which Dr. Price led the detective down the gallery.  “What sort of an opinion can a man form of a fellow like that?  Is he fool or knave?”

Mr. Gryce showed no great alacrity in answering.  When he did speak it was to say: 

“We shall have to go into the matter a little more deeply before we can trust our judgment as to his complete sincerity.  But if you want to know whether I believe him to have loosed the arrow which killed that innocent child, I am ready from present appearances to say yes.  Who else was there to do it?  He and he only was on the spot.  But it was a chance action, without intention or wish to murder.  No man, even if he were a fool, would choose such a place or such a means for murder.”

“That’s true; but how does it help to call it accident?  Accident calls for a bow in hand, an arrow within reach, an impulse to try one’s skill at a fancied target.  Now the arrow—­whatever may be said of the bow—­was not within the reach of anyone standing in this gallery.  The arrow came from the wall at the base of which this young woman died.  It had to be brought from there here.  That does not look like accident, but crime.”