“It’s a long chance.” Markham was pessimistic. “But it can do no harm to try. In any event, I shall arrest Arnesson before I leave here, and hope for the best.”
A few moments later the front door opened and Professor Dillard appeared in the hall opposite the archway. He scarcely acknowledged Markham’s greeting—he was scanning our faces as if trying to read the meaning of our unexpected visit. Finally he put a question.
“You have, perhaps, thought over what I said last night?”
“Not only have we thought it over,” said Markham, “but Mr. Vance has found the thing that was disturbing you. After we left here he showed me a copy of ‘The Pretenders.’ ”
“Ah!” The exclamation was like a sigh of relief. “For days that play has been in my mind, poisoning every thought. . . .” He looked up fearfully. “What does it mean?”
Vance answered the question.
“It means, sir, that you’ve led us to the truth. We’re waiting now for Mr. Arnesson.—And I think it would be well if we had a talk with you in the meantime. You may be able to help us.”
The old man hesitated.
“I had hoped not to be made an instrument in the boy’s conviction.” His voice held a tragic paternal note. But presently his features hardened; a vindictive light shone in his eyes; and his hand tightened over the knob of his stick. “However, I can’t consider my own feelings now. Come; I will do what I can.”
On reaching the library he paused by the sideboard and poured himself a glass of port. When he had drunk it he turned to Markham with a look of apology.