“Still, my dear child,” put in Professor Dillard, “the man was killed; so there must have been something in his life that you didn’t know or suspect. We’re constantly finding new stars that the old-time astronomers didn’t believe existed.”
“I can’t believe Joseph had an enemy,” she retorted. “I won’t believe it. It’s too utterly absurd.”
“You think then,” asked Markham, “that it’s unlikely Sperling was in any way responsible for Robin’s death?”
“Unlikely?” The girl’s eyes flashed. “It’s impossible!”
“And yet, y’ know, Miss Dillard,”—it was Vance who now spoke in his lazy casual tone—“Sperling means ‘sparrow’.”
The girl sat immobile. Her face had gone deathly pale, and her hands tightened over the arms of the chair. Then slowly, and as if with great difficulty, she nodded, and her breast began to rise and fall with her labored breathing. Suddenly she shuddered and pressed her handkerchief to her face.
“I’m afraid!” she whispered.
Vance rose and, going to her, touched her comfortingly on the shoulder.
“Why are you afraid?”
She looked up and met his eyes. They seemed to reassure her, for she forced a pitiful smile.