Markham pursed his lips. He was frankly perplexed by the unexpected manner in which Vance had met his defiance. But immediately he gave a good-natured laugh, as if, after all, the matter was of no serious consequence.
“Very well,” he assented. “You have my word. . . . And now what?”
After a moment Vance lit a fresh cigarette, and rose languidly.
“First,” he announced, “I shall determine the exact height of the guilty person. Such a fact will, no doubt, come under the head of indicat’ry evidence—eh, what?”
Markham stared at him incredulously.
“How, in Heaven’s name, are you going to do that?”
“By those primitive deductive methods to which you so touchingly pin your faith,” he answered easily. “But come; let us repair to the scene of the crime.”
He moved toward the door, Markham reluctantly following in a state of perplexed irritation.
“But you know the body was removed,” the latter protested; “and the place by now has no doubt been straightened up.”
“Thank Heaven for that!” murmured Vance. “I’m not particularly fond of corpses; and untidiness, y’ know, annoys me frightfully.”