“Neither Mannix nor Lindquist is here now, and Cleaver is. And I want to know why he lied to me about that summons.”
“I can tell you that,” said Vance. “He wanted you to think he was in the wilds of New Jersey at midnight Monday.—Simple, what?”
“The inference is a credit to your intelligence! But I hope you don’t seriously think that Cleaver is guilty. It’s possible he knows something; but I certainly cannot picture him as a strangler.”
“And why?”
“He’s not the type. It’s inconceivable—even if there were evidence against him.”
“Ah! The psychological judgment! You eliminate Cleaver because you don’t think his nature harmonizes with the situation. I say, doesn’t that come perilously near being an esoteric hypothesis?—or a metaphysical deduction? . . . However, I don’t entirely agree with you in your application of the theory to Cleaver. That fish-eyed gambler has unsuspected potentialities for evil. But with the theory itself I am wholly in accord. And behold, my dear Markham: you yourself apply psychology in its abecedarian implications, yet ridicule my application of it in its higher developments. Consistency may be the hobgoblin of little minds, y’ know, but it’s none the less a priceless jewel. . . . How about a cup of tea?”
We sought the Palm Room, and sat down at a table near the entrance. Vance ordered oolong tea, but Markham and I took black coffee. A very capable four-piece orchestra was playing Tchaikovsky’s Casse-Noisette Suite, and we sat restfully in the comfortable chairs without speaking. Markham was tired and dispirited, and Vance was busy with the problem that had absorbed him continuously since Tuesday morning. Never before had I seen him so preoccupied.
We had been there perhaps half an hour when Spotswoode strolled in. He stopped and spoke, and Markham asked him to join us. He, too, appeared depressed, and his eyes showed signs of worry.
“I hardly dare ask you, Mr. Markham,” he said diffidently, after he had ordered a ginger ale, “but how do my chances stand now of being called as a witness?”
“That fate is certainly no nearer than when I last saw you,” Markham replied. “In fact, nothing has happened to change the situation materially.”