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Blon inclined his head in agreement.
“The shot was obviously aimed at the heart from the rear,” he explained, in his soft, modulated voice. “But Ada must have turned slightly to the right just as the revolver exploded; and the bullet, instead of going directly into her body, ploughed along the shoulder-blade at the level of the third dorsal vertebra, tore the capsular ligament, and lodged in the deltoid.” He indicated the location of the deltoid on his own left arm.
“She had,” suggested Vance, “apparently turned her back on her assailant and attempted to run away; and he had followed her and placed the revolver almost against her back.—Is that your interpretation of it, doctor?”
“Yes, that would seem to be the situation. And, as I said, at the crucial moment she veered a little, and thus saved her life.”
“Would she have fallen immediately to the floor, despite the actual superficiality of the wound?”
“It’s not unlikely. Not only would the pain have been considerable, but the shock must be taken into account. Ada—or, for that matter, any woman—might have fainted at once.”
“And it’s a reasonable presumption,” pursued Vance, “that her assailant would have taken it for granted that the shot had been fatal.”
“We may readily assume that to be the case.”
Vance smoked a moment, his eyes averted.
“Yes,” he agreed, “I think we may assume that.—And another point suggests itself. Since Miss Ada was in front of the dressing-table, a considerable distance from the bed, and since the weapon was held practically against her, the encounter would seem to take on the nature of a deliberate attack, rather than a haphazard shot fired by some one in a panic.”
Von Blon looked shrewdly at Vance, and then turned a questioning gaze upon Heath. For a moment he was silent, as if weighing his reply, and when he spoke it was with guarded reserve.
“Of course, one might interpret the situation that way. Indeed, the facts would seem to indicate such a conclusion. But, on the other hand, the intruder might have been very close to Ada; and the fact that the bullet entered her left shoulder at a particularly vital point may have been the purest accident.”
“Quite true,” conceded Vance. “However, if the idea of premeditation is to be abrogated, we must account for the fact that the lights were on in the room when the butler entered immediately after the shooting.”
Von Blon showed the keenest astonishment at this statement.
“The lights were on? That’s most remarkable!” His brow crinkled into a perplexed frown, and he appeared to be assimilating Vance’s information. “Still,” he argued, “that very fact may account for the shooting. If the intruder had entered a lighted room he may have fired at the occupant lest his description be given to the police later.”
“Oh, quite!” murmured Vance. “Anyway, let us hope we’ll learn the explanation when we’ve seen and spoken to Miss Ada.”
“Well, why don’t we get to it?” grumbled Heath, whose ordinarily inexhaustible store of patience had begun to run low.
“You’re so hasty, Sergeant,” Vance chided him. “Doctor Von Blon has just told us that Miss Ada is very weak; and anything we can learn beforehand will spare her just so many questions.”
“All I want to find out,” expostulated Heath, “is if she got a look at the bird that shot her and can give me a description of him.”
“That being the case, Sergeant, I fear you are doomed to have your ardent hopes dashed to the ground.”
Heath chewed viciously on his cigar; and Vance turned again to Von Blon.
“There’s one other question I’d like to ask, doctor. How long was it after Miss Ada had been wounded before you examined her?”
“The butler’s already told us, Mr. Vance,” interposed Heath impatiently. “The doctor got here in half an hour.”
“Yes, that’s about right.” Von Blon’s tone was smooth and matter-of-fact. “I was unfortunately out on a call when Sproot phoned, but I returned about fifteen minutes later, and hurried right over. Luckily I live near here—in East 48th Street.”
“And was Miss Ada still unconscious when you arrived?”
“Yes. She had lost considerable blood. The cook, however, had put a towel-compress on the wound, which of course helped.”
Vance thanked him and rose.
“And now, if you’ll be good enough to take us to your patient, we’ll be very grateful.”
“As little excitement as possible, you understand,” admonished Von Blon, as he got up and led the way up-stairs.
Sibella and Chester seemed undecided about accompanying us; but as I turned into the hall I saw a look of interrogation flash between them, and a moment later they too joined us in the upper hall.
9. Sibella was here referring to Tobias Greene’s will, which stipulated not only that the Greene mansion should be maintained intact for twenty-five years, but that the legatees should live on the estate during that time or become disinherited.
CHAPTER VI
AN ACCUSATION
(Tuesday, November 9; 4 p. m.)
Ada Greene’s room was simply, almost severely, furnished; but there was a neatness about it, combined with little touches of feminine decoration, that reflected the care its occupant had bestowed upon it. To the left, near the door that led into the dressing-room communicating with Mrs. Greene’s chamber, was a single mahogany bed of simple design; and beyond it was the door that opened upon the stone balcony. To the right, beside the window, stood the dressing-table; and on the amber-colored Chinese rug before it there showed a large irregular brown stain where the wounded girl had lain. In the centre of the right wall was an old Tudor fireplace with a high oak-panelled mantel.
As we entered, the girl in the bed looked at us inquisitively, and a slight flush colored her pale cheeks. She lay on her right side, facing the door, her bandaged shoulder supported by pillows, and her left hand, slim and white, resting upon the blue-figured coverlet. A remnant of her fear of the night before seemed still to linger in her blue eyes.
Doctor Von Blon went to her and, sitting down on the edge of the bed, placed his hand on hers. His manner was at once protective and impersonal.
“These gentlemen want to ask you a few questions, Ada,” he explained, with a reassuring smile; “and as you were so much stronger this afternoon I brought them up. Do you feel equal to it?”
She nodded her head wearily, her eyes on the doctor.
PLAN OF ADA’S BEDROOM.
Vance, who had paused by the mantel to inspect the hand-carving of the quadræ, now turned and approached the bed.
“Sergeant,” he said, “if you don’t mind, let me talk to Miss Greene first.”
Heath realized, I think, that the situation called for tact and delicacy; and it was typical of the man’s fundamental bigness that he at once stepped aside.
“Miss Greene,” said Vance, in a quiet, genial voice, drawing up a small chair beside the bed, “we’re very anxious to clear up the mystery about last night’s tragedy; and, as you are the only person who is in a position to help us, we want you to recall for us, as nearly as you can, just what happened.”