“I don’t understand exactly. From what you told me the other day, I got the impression there was a woman involved.”
Markham smiled awkwardly, and avoided Vance’s eyes.
“A lot of water has run under the bridge since then,” he said. “The woman I had in mind was eliminated as soon as we began to check up on her. But in the process I was led to the man. There’s little doubt of his guilt. I felt pretty sure about it this morning, and just now I learned that he was seen by a credible witness in front of your brother’s house within a few minutes of the time the shot was fired.”
“Is there any objection to your telling me who it was?” The Major was still frowning.
“None whatever. The whole city will probably know it to-morrow. . . . It was Captain Leacock.”
Major Benson stared at him in unbelief.
“Impossible! I simply can’t credit it. That boy was with me three years on the other side, and I got to know him pretty well. I can’t help feeling there’s a mistake somewhere. . . . The police,” he added quickly, “have got on the wrong track.”
“It’s not the police,” Markham informed him. “It was my own investigations that turned up the Captain.”
The Major did not answer, but his silence bespoke his doubt.
“Y’ know,” put in Vance, “I feel the same way about the Captain that you do, Major. It rather pleases me to have my impressions verified by one who has known him so long.”