“A good man,” nodded Vance. “There’s no better neurologist in the country. We’ll do nothing without his permission.”
Miss Dillard gave him a grateful look. Then she excused herself.
When we were again in the drawing-room Arnesson stationed himself before the fireplace and regarded Vance satirically.
“ ‘Johnny Sprig, Johnny Sprig.’ Ha! Lady Mae got the idea at once. She may be cracked, but certain lobes of her brain are over-active. Unaccountable piece of machinery, the human brain. Some of the greatest mental computers of Europe are morons. And I know a couple of chess masters who need nurses to dress and feed ’em.”
Vance appeared not to hear him. He had stopped by a small cabinet near the archway and was apparently absorbed in a set of jade carvings of ancient Chinese origin.
“That elephant doesn’t belong there,” he remarked casually, pointing to a tiny figure in the collection. “It’s a bunjinga—decadent, don’t y’ know. Clever, but not authentic. Probably a copy of a Manchu piece.” He stifled a yawn and turned toward Markham. “I say, old man, there’s nothing more we can do. Suppose we toddle. We might have a brief word with the professor before we go, though. . . . Mind waiting for us here, Mr. Arnesson?”
Arnesson lifted his eyebrows in some surprise, but immediately crinkled his face into a disdainful smile.
“Oh, no. Go ahead.” And he began refilling his pipe.
Professor Dillard was much annoyed at our second intrusion.
“We’ve just learned,” said Markham, “that you were speaking to Mrs. Drukker before breakfast this morning. . . .”