“The farther we go,” he complained, “the more gummed up this case gets.”
“Sursum corda, Sergeant,” Vance exhorted him. “Let not dark despair o’ercome you. When we have Pardee’s and the Professor’s testimony as to what took place while Emery was watchfully waiting beneath the trees at 74th Street, we may be able to fit some very interestin’ bits together.”
As he spoke Belle Dillard entered the front hall from the rear of the house. She saw us in the drawing-room and came in at once.
“Where’s Lady Mae?” she asked in a troubled voice. “I was here an hour ago, and Grete told me she was out. And she’s not in her room now.”
Vance rose and gave her his chair.
“Mrs. Drukker died last night of heart failure. When you were here earlier Mrs. Menzel was afraid to let you go up-stairs.”
The girl sat very quiet for some time. Presently the tears welled to her eyes.
“Perhaps she heard of Adolph’s terrible accident.”
“Possibly. But it’s not quite clear what happened here last night. Doctor Barstead thinks Mrs. Drukker died at about ten o’clock.”
“Almost the same time Adolph died,” she murmured. “It seems too terrible. . . . Pyne told me of the accident when I came down to breakfast this morning,—every one in the quarter was talking about it,—and I came over at once to be with Lady Mae. But Grete said she had gone out, and I didn’t know what to think. There’s something very strange about Adolph’s death. . . .”