Burke remained in the archery-room, and the rest of us went to the library.
“I’m afraid there’s little I can tell you,” the professor began, settling himself and taking out his pipe. There was a noticeable reserve in his manner—a kind of detached reluctance. “Pardee came here last night after dinner, ostensibly to chat with Arnesson, but actually, I imagine, to see Belle. Belle, however, excused herself early and went to bed—the child had a bad headache—and Pardee remained until about half past eleven. Then he went out; and that was the last I saw of him until Pyne brought me the terrible news this morning. . . .”
“But if,” put in Vance, “Mr. Pardee came to see your niece, how do you account for his staying so late after she had retired?”
“I don’t account for it.” The old man exhibited perplexity. “He gave the impression, though, that there was something on his mind and that he desired a sense of human contact. The fact is, I had to hint rather broadly about being tired before he finally got up to go.”
“Where was Mr. Arnesson during the evening?”
“Sigurd remained here talking with us for an hour or so after Belle had retired, and then went to bed. He’d been busy with Drukker’s affairs all afternoon, and was played out.”
“What time would that have been?”
“About half past ten.”
“And you say,” continued Vance, “that Mr. Pardee impressed you as being under a mental strain?”
“Not a strain exactly.” The professor drew on his pipe, frowning. “He appeared depressed, almost melancholy.”