“But what about yesterday morning? I want to know where he was when the cook called him at half past eight. Why should Mrs. Drukker be so anxious to have us believe he was asleep?”
“She, too, probably went to his room and saw that he was gone. Then when she heard of Sprigg’s death her febrile imagination became overheated, and she proceeded to invest him with an alibi. But you’re only inviting trouble when you plan to chivy him about the discrepancies in his tale.”
“I’m not so sure.” Markham spoke with significative gravity. “I may be inviting a solution to this hideous business.”
Vance did not reply at once. He stood gazing down at the quivering shadows cast on the lawn by the willow trees. At length he said in a low voice:
“We can’t afford to take that chance. If what you’re thinking should prove to be true, and you should reveal the information you’ve just received, the little man who was here last night might prowl about the upper hall again. And this time he might not be content to leave his chessman outside the door!”
A look of horror came into Markham’s eyes.
“You think I might be jeopardizing the cook’s safety if I used her evidence against him at this time?”
“The terrible thing about this affair is that, until we know the truth, we face danger at every turn.” Vance’s voice was heavy with discouragement. “We can’t risk exposing any one. . . .”
The door leading to the porch opened, and Drukker appeared on the threshold, his little eyes blinking in the sunlight. His gaze came to rest on Markham, and a crafty, repulsive smile contorted his mouth.
“I trust I am not disturbing you,” he apologized, with a menacing squint; “but the cook has just informed me that she told you she saw me enter here by the rear door on the morning of Mr. Robin’s unfortunate death.”