“Miss Dillard?” Vance’s voice was suddenly resonant with interest. “Why should she have one?”
“She’s had it for years. She’s like a member of the family—over here two and three times a day. When I go out I lock the back door; and her having a key saves Mrs. Drukker the trouble of coming down and letting her in.”
“Quite natural,” Vance murmured. Then: “We sha’n’t bother you any more, Mrs. Menzel.” He strolled out on the little rear porch.
When the door had been closed behind us he pointed to the screen door that opened into the yard.
“You’ll note that this wire mesh has been forced away from the frame, permitting one to reach inside and turn the latch. Either Mrs. Drukker’s key or Miss Dillard’s—probably the latter—was used to open the door of the house.”
Heath nodded: this tangible aspect of the case appealed to him. But Markham was not paying attention. He stood in the background smoking with angry detachment. Presently he turned resolutely and was about to re-enter the house when Vance caught his arm.
“No—no, Markham! That would be abominable technique. Curb your ire. You’re so dashed impulsive, don’t y’ know.”
“But, damn it, Vance!” Markham shook off the other’s hand. “Drukker lied to us about going out the Dillard gate before Robin’s murder——”
“Of course he did. I’ve suspected all along that the account he gave us of his movements that morning was a bit fanciful. But it’s useless to go up-stairs now and hector him about it. He’ll simply say that the cook is mistaken.”
Markham was unconvinced.