“Let’s have the details of the case, Sergeant. I take it you’ve questioned the occupants of the house.”
“Only in a general way, sir.” Heath flung one leg over the corner of the centre-table and relit his dead cigar. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up. I knew you were acquainted with the old gentleman up-stairs; so I just did the routine things. I put a man out in the alley to see that nobody touches the body till Doc Doremus arrives,[7]—he’ll be here when he finishes lunch.—I phoned the finger-print men before I left the office, and they oughta be on the job any minute now; though I don’t see what good they can do. . . .”
“What about the bow that fired the arrow?” put in Vance.
“That was our one best bet; but old Mr. Dillard said he picked it up from the alley and brought it in the house. He probably gummed up any prints it mighta had.”
“What have you done about Sperling?” asked Markham.
“I got his address—he lives in a country house up Westchester way—and sent a coupla men to bring him here as soon as they could lay hands on him. Then I talked to the two servants—the old fellow that let you in, and his daughter, a middle-aged woman who does the cooking. But neither of ’em seemed to know anything, or else they’re acting dumb.—After that I tried to question the young lady of the house.” The Sergeant raised his hands in a gesture of irritated despair. “But she was all broke up and crying; so I thought I’d let you have the pleasure of interviewing her.—Snitkin and Burke”—he jerked his thumb toward the two detectives by the front window—“went over the basement and the alley and back yard trying to pick up something; but drew a blank.—And that’s all I know so far. As soon as Doremus and the finger-print men get here, and after I’ve had a heart-to-heart talk with Sperling, then I’ll get the ball to rolling and clean up the works.”
Vance heaved an audible sigh.
“You’re so sanguine, Sergeant! Don’t be disappointed if your ball turns out to be a parallelopiped that won’t roll. There’s something deuced oddish about this nursery extravaganza; and, unless all the omens deceive me, you’ll be playing blind-man’s-buff for a long time to come.”
“Yeh?” Heath gave Vance a look of despondent shrewdness. It was evident he was more or less of the same opinion.
“Don’t let Mr. Vance dishearten you, Sergeant,” Markham rallied him. “He’s permitting his imagination to run away with him.” Then with an impatient gesture he turned toward the door. “Let’s look over the ground before the others arrive. Later I’ll have a talk with Professor Dillard and the other members of the household. And, by the way, Sergeant, you didn’t mention Mr. Arnesson. Isn’t he at home?”