“The Bishop won’t let you, I fear,” returned Vance.
Markham set his jaw.
“Good God!” he burst out. “What damnable sort of thing are we facing? I expect every minute to wake up and discover I’ve been living a nightmare.”
“No such luck, sir,” growled Heath. He took a resolute breath like a man preparing for combat. “What’s on the cards? Where do we go from here? I need action.”
Markham appealed to Vance.
“You seem to have some idea about this affair. What’s your suggestion? I frankly admit I’m floundering about in a black chaos.”
Vance inhaled deeply on his cigarette. Then he leaned forward as if to give emphasis to his words.
“Markham old man, there’s only one conclusion to be drawn. These two murders were engineered by the same brain: both sprang from the same grotesque impulse; and since the first of them was committed by some one intimately familiar with conditions inside the Dillard house, it follows that we must now look for a person who, in addition to that knowledge, had definite information that a man named John Sprigg was in the habit of taking a walk each morning in a certain part of Riverside Park. Having found such a person, we must check up on the points of time, place, opportunity, and possible motive. There’s some interrelation between Sprigg and the Dillards. What it is I don’t know. But our first move should be to find out. What better starting-point than the Dillard house itself?”
“We’ll get some lunch first,” said Markham wearily. “Then we’ll run out there.”