Markham had listened attentively to Vance’s summary. He now sat in rapt silence gazing down at the desk.
“How about a little chat with Pfyfe before you make any final move against the Captain?” suggested Vance.
“I think I’ll take your advice,” answered Markham slowly, after several minutes’ reflection. Then he picked up the telephone. “I wonder if he’s at his hotel now.”
“Oh, he’s there,” said Vance. “Watchful waitin’ and all that.”
Pfyfe was in; and Markham requested him to come at once to the office.
“There’s another thing I wish you’d do for me,” said Vance, when the other had finished telephoning. “The fact is, I’m longing to know what everyone was doing during the hour of Benson’s dissolution—that is, between midnight and one a. m. on the night of the thirteenth, or to speak pedantically, the morning of the fourteenth.”
Markham looked at him in amazement.
“Seems silly, doesn’t it?” Vance went on blithely. “But you put such faith in alibis—though they do prove disappointin’ at times, what? There’s Leacock, for instance. If that hall-boy had told Heath to toddle along and sell his violets, you couldn’t do a blessed thing to the Captain. Which shows, d’ ye see, that you’re too trustin’. . . . Why not find out where everyone was? Pfyfe and the Captain were at Benson’s; and they’re about the only ones whose whereabouts you’ve looked into. Maybe there were others hovering around Alvin that night. There may have been a crush of friends and acquaintances on hand—a regular soirée, y’ know. . . . Then again, checking up on all these people will supply the desolate Sergeant with something to take his mind off his sorrows.”
Markham knew, as well as I, that Vance would not have made a suggestion of this kind unless actuated by some serious motive; and for several moments he studied the other’s face intently, as if trying to read his reason for this unexpected request.
“Who, specifically,” he asked, “is included in your ‘everyone’?” He took up his pencil and held it poised above a sheet of paper.