“ . . . Y’ know, the moment I saw Mrs. Banning I knew my conclusions were correct. She was a sentimental soul, and just the sort of professional good sport who would have handed over her jewels to her amoroso. Also, she was bereft of gems when we called,—and a woman of her stamp always wears her jewels when she desires to make an impression on strangers. Moreover, she’s the kind that would have jewellery even if the larder was empty. It was therefore merely a question of getting her to talk.”
“On the whole, you did very well,” observed Markham.
Vance gave him a condescending bow.
“Sir Hubert is too generous.—But tell me, didn’t my little chat with the lady cast a gleam into your darkened mind?”
“Naturally,” said Markham. “I’m not utterly obtuse. She played unconsciously into our hands. She believed Pfyfe did not arrive in New York until the morning after the murder, and therefore told us quite frankly that she had ’phoned him that Benson had the jewels at home. The situation now is: Pfyfe knew they were in Benson’s house, and was there himself at about the time the shot was fired. Furthermore, the jewels are gone; and Pfyfe tried to cover up his tracks that night.”
Vance sighed hopelessly.
“Markham, there are altogether too many trees for you in this case. You simply can’t see the forest, y’ know, because of ’em.”
“There is the remote possibility that you are so busily engaged in looking at one particular tree that you are unaware of the others.”
A shadow passed over Vance’s face.
“I wish you were right,” he said.