“Oh, good-morning, Arnesson,” he said, in a quiet, well-modulated voice. “I hope there’s nothing seriously wrong.”
“A mere death, Pardee,” the other replied carelessly. “The proverbial tempest in a teapot.”
Markham was annoyed at the interruption.
“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked.
“I trust I am not intruding,” the man apologized. “I am a friend of the family,—I live just across the street; and I perceived that something unusual had happened here. It occurred to me I might be of some service.”
Arnesson chuckled. “My dear Pardee! Why clothe your natural curiosity in the habiliments of rhetoric?”
Pardee blushed.
“I assure you, Arnesson——” he began; but Vance interrupted him.
“You say you live opposite, Mr. Pardee. You have perhaps been observing this house during the forenoon?”
“Hardly that, sir. My study, however, overlooks 75th Street, and it’s true I was sitting at the window most of the morning. But I was busy writing. When I returned to my work from lunch I noticed the crowd and the police cars and also the officer in uniform at the door.”