“What now?” expostulated Markham.
“Your own suggestion,” Vance replied, taking him by the arm and leading him toward the door. “We’re going to check Pardee’s alibi.”
Half an hour later we were seated with the professor and Arnesson in the Dillard library.
“We’ve come on a somewhat unusual errand,” explained Vance; “but it may have a vital bearing on our investigation.” He took out his wallet, and unfolded a sheet of paper. “Here’s a document, Mr. Arnesson, I wish you’d glance over. It’s a copy of the official scoresheet of the chess game between Pardee and Rubinstein. Very interestin’. I’ve toyed with it a bit, but I’d like your expert analysis of it. The first part of the game is usual enough, but the play after the adjournment rather appeals to me.”
Arnesson took the paper and studied it with cynical amusement.
“Aha! The inglorious record of Pardee’s Waterloo, eh?”
“What’s the meaning of this, Markham?” asked Professor Dillard contemptuously. “Do you hope to run a murderer to earth by dilly-dallying over a chess game?”
“Mr. Vance hoped something could be learned from it.”
“Fiddlesticks!” The professor poured himself another glass of port and, opening a book, ignored us completely.
Arnesson was absorbed in the notations of the chess score.