“The Bishop?” Professor Dillard strove to curb his irritation. “Look here, Markham; I won’t be played with. That’s the second mention of a mysterious Bishop that’s been made in this room; and I want to know the meaning of it. Even if a crank did write an insane letter to the papers in connection with Robin’s death, what has this Bishop to do with Sprigg?”
“A paper was found beneath Sprigg’s body bearing a mathematical formula typed on the same machine as the Bishop notes.”
“What!” The professor bent forward. “The same machine, you say? And a mathematical formula? . . . What was the formula?”
Markham opened his pocketbook, and held out the triangular scrap of paper that Pitts had given him.
“The Riemann-Christoffel tensor. . . .” Professor Dillard sat for a long time gazing at the paper; then he handed it back to Markham. He seemed suddenly to have grown older; and there was a weary look in his eyes as he lifted them to us. “I don’t see any light in this matter.” His tone was one of hopeless resignation. “But perhaps you are right in following your present course.—What do you want of me?”
Markham was plainly puzzled by the other’s altered attitude.
“I came to you primarily to ascertain if there was any link between Sprigg and this house; but, to be quite candid, I don’t see how that link, now that I have it, fits into the chain.—I would, however, like your permission to question Pyne and Beedle in whatever way I think advisable.”
“Ask them anything you like, Markham. You shall never be able to accuse me of having stood in your way.” He glanced up appealingly. “But you will, I hope, advise me before you take any drastic steps.”
“That I can promise you, sir.” Markham rose. “But I fear we are a long way from any drastic measures at present.” He held out his hand, and from his manner it was evident he had sensed some hidden anxiety in the old man and wanted to express his sympathy without voicing his feelings.
The professor walked with us to the door.