“Stranger things have happened,” returned Vance equably; “though I sha’n’t accuse him of it in this instance… The cigarette butts may, y’ know, be evidence of a previous conversazione[55].”
“Even your despised Heath,” Markham informed him, “had sufficient intelligence to ascertain from the housekeeper that she sweeps out the grate every morning.”
Vance sighed admiringly.
“You’re so thorough, aren’t you? … But, I say, that can’t be, by any chance, your only evidence against the lady?”
“By no means,” Markham assured him. “But, despite your superior distrust, it’s good corroboratory evidence nevertheless.”
“I dare say,” Vance agreed, “—seeing with what frequency innocent persons are condemned in our courts… But tell me more.”
Markham proceeded with an air of quiet self-assurance.
“My man learned, first, that Benson dined alone with this woman at the Marseilles, a little bohemian restaurant in West Fortieth Street; secondly, that they quarrelled; and thirdly, that they departed at midnight, entering a taxicab together. … Now, the murder was committed at twelve-thirty; but since the lady lives on Riverside Drive, in the Eighties, Benson couldn’t possibly have accompanied her home—which obviously he would have done had he not taken her to his own house—and returned by the time the shot was fired. But we have further proof pointing to her being at Benson’s. My man learned, at the woman’s apartment-house, that actually she did not get home until shortly after one. Moreover, she was without her gloves and hand-bag, and had to be let in to her rooms with a pass-key, because, as she explained, she had lost hers. As you remember, we found the key in her bag. And—to clinch the whole matter—the smoked cigarettes in the grate corresponded to the one you found in her case.”
Markham paused to relight his cigar.
“So much for that particular evening,” he resumed. “As soon as I learned the woman’s identity this morning, I put two more men to work on her private life. Just as I was leaving the office this noon the men ’phoned in their reports. They had learned that the woman has a fiancé, a chap named Leacock, who was a captain in the army, and who would be likely to own just such a gun as Benson was killed with. Furthermore, this Captain Leacock lunched with the woman the day of the murder and also called on her at her apartment the morning after.”
Markham leaned slightly forward, and his next words were emphasized by the tapping of his fingers on the arm of the chair.
“As you see, we have the motive, the opportunity, and the means. … Perhaps you will tell me now that I possess no incriminating evidence.”
“My dear Markham,” Vance affirmed calmly, “you haven’t brought out a single point which could not easily be explained away by any bright school-boy.” He shook his head lugubriously. “And on such evidence people are deprived of their life and liberty! ’Pon my word, you alarm me. I tremble for my personal safety.”
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