“But, Lady Mae, Adolph was at our house this morning. He came to see Sigurd——”
Mrs. Drukker drew herself up.
“Nothing of the kind!” she snapped, eyeing the girl almost viciously. “Adolph had to go—down-town somewhere. He wasn’t near your house—I know he wasn’t.” Her eyes flashed, and she turned a defiant glare on Vance.
It was an embarrassing moment; but what followed was even more painful.
The door opened softly, and suddenly Mrs. Drukker’s arms went out.
“My little boy—my baby!” she cried. “Come here, dear.”
But the man at the door did not come forward. He stood blinking his beady little eyes at us, like a person waking in strange surroundings. Adolph Drukker was scarcely five feet tall. He had the typical congested appearance of the hunchback. His legs were spindling, and the size of his bulging, distorted torso seemed exaggerated by his huge, dome-like head. But there was intellectuality in the man’s face—a terrific passionate power which held one’s attention. Professor Dillard had called him a mathematical genius; and one could have no doubts as to his erudition.[12]
“What does all this mean?” he demanded in a high-pitched, tremulous voice, looking toward Miss Dillard. “Are these friends of yours, Belle?”
The girl started to speak, but Vance halted her with a gesture.
“The truth is, Mr. Drukker,” he explained sombrely, “there has been a tragedy next door. This is Mr. Markham, the District Attorney, and Sergeant Heath of the Police Department; and at our request Miss Dillard brought us here that we might ask your mother whether or not she had noticed anything unusual on the archery range this morning. The tragedy occurred just outside the basement door of the Dillard house.”