“Why this unexpected visit, Markham?” he asked, after we had seated ourselves. “Have you something to report on Robin’s death?” He marked a page in Weyl’s “Space, Time and Matter” and, settling back reluctantly, regarded us with impatience. “I’m very busy working on a problem of Mach’s mechanics. . . .”
“I regret,” said Markham, “I have nothing to report on the Robin case. But there has been another murder in this neighborhood to-day, and we have reason to believe that it may be connected with Robin’s death. What I wanted particularly to ask you, sir, is whether or not the name of John E. Sprigg is familiar to you.”
Professor Dillard’s expression of annoyance changed quickly.
“Is that the name of the man who was killed?” There was no longer any lack of interest in his attitude.
“Yes. A man named John E. Sprigg was shot in Riverside Park, near 84th Street, this morning shortly after half past seven.”
The professor’s eyes wandered to the mantelpiece, and he was silent for several moments. He seemed to be debating inwardly some point that troubled him.
“Yes,” he said at length, “I—we—do know a young man of that name—though it’s wholly unlikely he’s the same one.”
“Who is he?” Markham’s voice was eagerly insistent.
Again the professor hesitated.
“The lad I have in mind is Arnesson’s prize student in mathematics—what they’d call at Cambridge a senior wrangler.”