“That’s the terrible thing about logic,” said Vance. “It so often leads one irresistibly to a false conclusion.”
He stood up and walked across the room and back, his hands in his coat-pockets. When he came abreast of Heath he halted.
“I say, Sergeant; if somebody else could have unlocked that side door, and then rebolted it again after the crime, you’d be willing to admit that it would weaken your case against Jessup—eh, what?”
Heath was in a generous mood.
“Sure. Show me some one else who coulda done that, and I’ll admit that maybe I’m wrong.”
“Skeel could have done it, Sergeant. And he did do it—without any one knowing it.”
“Skeel!—This ain’t the age of miracles, Mr. Vance.”
Vance swung about and faced Markham.
“Listen! I’m telling you Jessup’s innocent.” He spoke with a fervor that amazed me. “And I’m going to prove it to you—some way. My theory is pretty complete; it’s deficient only in one or two small points; and, I’ll confess, I haven’t yet been able to put a name to the culprit. But it’s the right theory, Markham, and it’s diametrically opposed to the Sergeant’s. Therefore, you’ve got to give me an opportunity to demonstrate it before you proceed against Jessup. Now, I can’t demonstrate it here; so you and Heath must come with me to the Odell house. It won’t take over an hour. But if it took a week, you’d have to come just the same.”
He stepped nearer to the desk.