Arnesson shrugged his shoulders and looked after her until she had disappeared. Then he fixed a cynical eye on Markham.
“Well, what glad tidings do you bring? Any news about the latest victim?” He led the way back to the drawing-room. “You know, I miss that lad. He’d have gone far. Rotten shame he had to be named Johnny Sprigg. Even ‘Peter Piper’ would have been safer. Nothing happened to Peter Piper aside from the pepper episode; and you couldn’t very well work that up into a murder. . . .”
“We have nothing to report, Arnesson,” Markham broke in, nettled by the man’s flippancy. “The situation remains unchanged.”
“Just dropped in for a social call, I presume. Staying for lunch?”
“We reserve the right,” said Markham coldly, “to investigate the case in whatever manner we deem advisable. Nor are we accountable to you for our actions.”
“So! Something has happened that irks you.” Arnesson spoke with sarcasm. “I thought I had been accepted as a coadjutor; but I see I am to be turned forth into the darkness.” He sighed elaborately and took out his pipe. “Dropping the pilot!—Bismarck and me. Alas!”
Vance had been smoking dreamily near the archway, apparently oblivious of Arnesson’s complaining. Now he stepped into the room.
“Really, y’ know, Markham, Mr. Arnesson is quite right. We agreed to keep him posted; and if he’s to be of any help to us he must know all the facts.”
“It was you yourself,” protested Markham, “who pointed out the possible danger of mentioning last night’s occurrence. . . .”
“True. But I had forgotten at the time our promise to Mr. Arnesson. And I’m sure his discretion can be relied on.” Then Vance related in detail Mrs. Drukker’s experience of the night before.