“My dear æsthete,” Markham urged impatiently, “be good enough to bury your artistic prejudices, and to proceed with your problem. . . . Of course,” he added, with a malicious smile, “if you fear the result, you may still withdraw, and thereby preserve your charming theories in their present virgin state.”
“And permit you to send an innocent maiden to the chair!” exclaimed Vance, in mock indignation. “Fie, fie! La politesse alone forbids my withdrawal. May I never have to lament, with Prince Henry, that ‘to my shame I have a truant been to chivalry’.”
Markham set his jaw, and gave Vance a ferocious look.
“I’m beginning to think that, after all, there is something in your theory that every man has some motive for murdering another.”
“Well,” replied Vance cheerfully, “now that you have begun to come round to my way of thinking, do you mind if I send Mr. Snitkin on an errand?”
Markham sighed audibly and shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ll smoke during the opéra bouffe, if it won’t interfere with your performance.”
Vance went to the door and called Snitkin.
“I say, would you mind going to Mrs. Platz and borrowing a long tape-measure and a ball of string. . . . The District Attorney wants them,” he added, giving Markham a sycophantic bow.
“I can’t hope that you’re going to hang yourself, can I?” asked Markham.