“Perhaps.” The professor drew on his pipe thoughtfully. “On the other hand, if I answer it I may give an erroneous impression, and do a grave injustice to the living.”
“Can you not trust me to judge that point?” Markham’s voice had become at once grave and urgent.
There was another short silence, broken by the girl.
“Why don’t you tell Mr. Markham what you heard, uncle? What harm can it do?”
“I was thinking of you, Belle,” the professor answered softly. “But perhaps you are right.” He looked up reluctantly. “The fact is, Markham, Robin and Sperling were having some angry words over Belle. I heard only a little, but I gathered that each regarded the other as being guilty of playing unfair—of standing in each other’s way. . . .”
“Oh! They didn’t mean it,” Miss Dillard interpolated vehemently. “They were always ragging each other. There was a little jealousy between them; but I wasn’t the real cause of it. It was their archery records. You see, Raymond—Mr. Sperling—used to be the better shot; but this last year Joseph beat him at several meets, and at our last annual tournament he became the club’s Champion Archer.”
“And Sperling thought, perhaps,” added Markham, “that he had correspondingly fallen in your estimation.”
“That’s absurd!” the girl retorted hotly.
“I think, my dear, we can leave the matter safely in Mr. Markham’s hands,” Professor Dillard said mollifyingly. Then to Markham: “Were there any other questions you cared to ask?”
“I’d like to know anything you can tell me about Robin and Sperling—who they are; their associations; and how long you have known them.”