“Yes,” he observed; “if only you had been at the window this morning you might have seen what happened. Your view of the range and the basement door of the Dillards’ is very clear. . . . Too bad.” He glanced at his watch. “Is your son in, Mrs. Drukker?”
“My son! My baby! What do you want with him?” Her voice rose pitifully, and her eyes fastened on Vance with venomous hatred.
“Nothing important,” he said pacifying. “Only, he may have seen some one on the range——”
“He saw no one! He couldn’t have seen any one, for he wasn’t here. He went out early this morning, and hasn’t returned.”
Vance looked with pity at the woman.
“He was away all morning?—Do you know where he was?”
“I always know where he is,” Mrs. Drukker answered proudly. “He tells me everything.”
“And he told you where he was going this morning?” persisted Vance gently.
“Certainly. But I forget for the moment. Let me think. . . .” Her long fingers tapped on the arm of the chair, and her eyes shifted uneasily. “I can’t recall. But I’ll ask him the moment he returns.”
Miss Dillard had stood watching the woman with growing perplexity.