“Who saw him die?
‘I,’ said the fly,
‘With my little eye;
I saw him die.’ ”
“Come down to earth!” Markham spoke with acerbity. “This isn’t a child’s game. It’s damned serious business.”
Vance nodded abstractedly.
“A child’s game is sometimes the most serious business in life.” His words held a curious, far-away tone. “I don’t like this thing—I don’t at all like it. There’s too much of the child in it—the child born old and with a diseased mind. It’s like some hideous perversion.” He took a deep inhalation on his cigarette, and made a slight gesture of repugnance. “Give me the details. Let’s find out where we stand in this topsy-turvy land.”
Markham again seated himself.
“I haven’t many details. I told you practically everything I know of the case over the phone. Old Professor Dillard called me shortly before I communicated with you——”
“Dillard? By any chance, Professor Bertrand Dillard?”
“Yes. The tragedy took place at his house.—You know him?”
“Not personally. I know him only as the world of science knows him—as one of the greatest living mathematical physicists. I have most of his books.—How did he happen to call you?”
“I’ve known him for nearly twenty years. I had mathematics under him at Columbia, and later did some legal work for him. When Robin’s body was found he phoned me at once—about half past eleven. I called up Sergeant Heath at the Homicide Bureau and turned the case over to him—although I told him I’d come along personally later on. Then I phoned you. The Sergeant and his men are waiting for me now at the Dillard home.”