It was Arnesson’s astonished ejaculation that snapped the tension.
Markham went quickly round the table and bent over Professor Dillard’s body.
“Call a doctor, Arnesson,” he ordered.
Vance turned wearily from the window and sank into a chair.
“Nothing can be done for him,” he said, with a deep sigh of fatigue. “He prepared for a swift and painless death when he distilled his cyanide.—The Bishop case is over.”
Markham was glaring at him with dazed incomprehension.
“Oh, I’ve half-suspected the truth ever since Pardee’s death,” Vance went on, in answer to the other’s unspoken question. “But I wasn’t sure of it until last night when he went out of his way to hang the guilt on Mr. Arnesson.”
“Eh? What’s that?” Arnesson turned from the telephone.
“Oh, yes,” nodded Vance. “You were to pay the penalty. You’d been chosen from the first as the victim. He even suggested the possibility of your guilt to us.”
Arnesson did not seem as surprised as one would have expected.