“You’d be pos’tively dumbfounded, Sergeant, at all I did learn,” Vance answered carelessly.
Again I noted the look of shrewd scrutiny in Heath’s eyes; but in a second it was gone.
“Well, I’m glad of that,” was his perfunctory reply.
Markham, Vance and I went out, and the patrolman on duty hailed a taxicab for us.
“So that’s the way our lofty gendarmerie approaches the mysterious wherefores of criminal enterprise—eh?” mused Vance, as we started on our way across town. “Markham, old dear, how do those robust lads ever succeed in running down a culprit?”
“You have witnessed only the barest preliminaries,” Markham explained. “There are certain things that must be done as a matter of routine—ex abundantia cautelæ, as we lawyers say.”
“But, my word!—such technique!” sighed Vance. “Ah, well, quantum est in rebus inane! as we laymen say.”
“You don’t think much of Heath’s capacity, I know,”—Markham’s voice was patient—“but he’s a clever man, and one that it’s very easy to underestimate.”
“I dare say,” murmured Vance. “Anyway, I’m deuced grateful to you, and all that, for letting me behold the solemn proceedings. I’ve been vastly amused, even if not uplifted. Your official Æsculapius rather appealed to me, y’ know—such a brisk, unemotional chap, and utterly unimpressed with the corpse. He really should have taken up crime in a serious way, instead of studying medicine.”
Markham lapsed into gloomy silence, and sat looking out of the window in troubled meditation until we reached Vance’s house.