We took our leave a few minutes later. As we turned into 76th Street, Heath, as if arousing himself from a bad dream, drew a deep breath and sat upright in the car.
“Did you get that about the kid games?” he asked, in an awe-stricken voice. “Good God, Mr. Vance! What’s this case going to turn into?”
A curious sadness was in Vance’s eyes as he gazed ahead toward the misty Jersey cliffs across the river.
Our ring at the Drukker house was answered by a portly German woman, who planted herself stolidly before us and informed us suspiciously that Mr. Drukker was too busy to see any one.
“You’d better tell him, however,” said Vance, “that the District Attorney wishes to speak to him immediately.”
His words produced a strange effect on the woman. Her hands went to her face, and her massive bosom rose and fell convulsively. Then, as though panic-stricken, she turned and ascended the stairs. We heard her knock on a door; there was a sound of voices; and a few moments later she came back to inform us that Mr. Drukker would see us in his study.
As we passed the woman Vance suddenly turned and, fixing his eyes on her ominously, asked:
“What time did Mr. Drukker get up yesterday morning?”
“I—don’t know,” she stammered, thoroughly frightened. “Ja, ja, I know. At nine o’clock—like always.”
Vance nodded and moved on.