“I can’t understand that typed tensor,” he murmured, shaking his head. “But if there’s anything I can do. . . .”
“There is something you can do for us, Professor Dillard,” said Vance, pausing at the door. “On the morning Robin was killed we interviewed Mrs. Drukker——”
“Ah!”
“And though she denied having sat at her window during the forenoon there is a possibility she saw something happen on the archery range between eleven and twelve.”
“She gave you that impression?” There was an undertone of suppressed interest in the professor’s question.
“Only in a remote way. It was Drukker’s statement that he had heard his mother scream, and her denial of having screamed, that led me to believe that she might have seen something she preferred to keep from us. And it occurred to me that you would probably have more influence with her than any one else, and that, if she did indeed witness anything, you might prevail upon her to speak.”
“No!” Professor Dillard spoke almost harshly; but he immediately placed his hand on Markham’s arm, and his tone changed. “There are some things you must not ask me to do for you. If that poor harassed woman saw anything from her window that morning, you must find it out for yourself. I’ll have no hand in torturing her; and I sincerely hope you’ll not worry her either. There are other ways of finding out what you want to know.” He looked straight into Markham’s eyes. “She must not be the one to tell you. You yourself would be sorry afterwards.”
“We must find out what we can,” Markham answered resolutely but with kindliness. “There’s a fiend loose in this city, and I cannot stay my hand to save any one from suffering—however tragic that suffering may be. But I assure you I shall not unnecessarily torture any one.”
“Have you thought,” asked Professor Dillard quietly, “that the truth you seek may be more frightful even than the crimes themselves?”
“That I shall have to risk. But even if I knew it to be a fact, it would not deter me in any degree.”