“Would you mind telling me why we are calling on Miss St. Clair?” asked Markham resignedly.
Vance amiably complied.
“Not at all. Indeed, I deem it best for you to know. There are several points connected with the lady that need eluc’dation. First, there are the gloves and the hand-bag. Nor poppy nor mandragora shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep which thou ow’dst yesterday until you have learned about those articles—eh, what?—Then, you recall, Miss Hoffman told us that the Major was lending an ear when a certain lady called upon Benson the day he was shot. I suspect that the visitor was Miss St. Clair; and I am rather curious to know what took place in the office that day, and why she came back later. Also, why did she go to Benson’s for tea that afternoon? And what part did the jewels play in the chit-chat?—But there are other items. For example: Why did the Captain take his gun to her? What makes him think she shot Benson?—he really believes it, y’ know. And why did she think that he was guilty from the first?”
Markham looked sceptical.
“You expect her to tell us all this?”
“My hopes run high,” returned Vance. “With her verray parfit gentil knight jailed as a self-confessed murderer, she will have nothing to lose by unburdening her soul. . . . But we must have no blustering. Your police brand of aggressive cross-examination will, I assure you, have no effect upon the lady.”
“Just how do you propose to elicit your information?”
“With morbidezza, as the painters say. Much more refined and gentlemanly, y’ know.”
Markham considered a moment.
“I think I’ll keep out of it, and leave the Socratic elenchus entirely to you.”