So amazing and unexpected were her words that Markham could make no immediate answer; and it was Vance who replied.
“You have heard of the tragedy, then, Mrs. Drukker? How could the news have come to you so soon?”
A look of canniness came into the woman’s expression, giving her the appearance of an evil old witch.
“Every one is talking about it in the neighborhood,” she answered evasively.
“Indeed? That’s most unfortunate. But why do you assume we have come here to make inquiries about it?”
“Wasn’t the young man’s name Johnny Sprigg?” A faint, terrible smile accompanied the question.
“So it was. John E. Sprigg. Still, that does not explain his connection with the Dillards.”
“Ah, but it does!” Her head moved up and down with a sort of horrible satisfaction. “It’s a game—a child’s game. First Cock Robin . . . then Johnny Sprig. Children must play—all healthy children must play.” Her mood suddenly changed. A softness shone on her face, and her eyes grew sad.
“It’s a rather diabolical game, don’t you think, Mrs. Drukker?”
“And why not? Isn’t life itself diabolical?”