“Ah!” Vance drew a deep puff on his cigarette and exhaled the smoke slowly. “I’m beginnin’ to think that the Bishop purloined Drukker’s key and paid a visit to his room after the murder. Sounds incredible, I know; but, for that matter, so does everything else that’s happened in this fantastic business.”
“But what, in God’s name, would have been his object?” protested Markham incredulously.
“We don’t know yet. But I have an idea that when we learn the motive of these astonishin’ crimes, we’ll understand why that visit was paid.”
Markham, his face set austerely, took his hat from the closet.
“We’d better be getting out there.”
But Vance made no move. He remained standing by the desk smoking abstractedly.
“Y’ know, Markham,” he said, “it occurs to me that we should see Mrs. Drukker first. There was tragedy in that house last night: something strange took place there that needs explaining; and now perhaps she’ll tell us the secret that has been locked up in her brain. Moreover, she hasn’t been notified of Drukker’s death, and with all the rumor and gossip in the neighborhood, word of some kind is sure to leak through to her before long. I fear the result of the shock when she hears the news. In fact, I’d feel better if we got hold of Barstead right away and took him with us. What do you say to my phoning him?”
Markham assented, and Vance briefly explained the situation to the doctor.
We drove up-town immediately, called for Barstead, and proceeded at once to the Drukker house. Our ring was answered by Mrs. Menzel, whose face showed plainly that she knew of Drukker’s death. Vance, after one glance at her, led her into the drawing-room away from the stairs, and asked in a low tone:
“Has Mrs. Drukker heard the news?”