“What a perfectly ripping spot for a murder!” she exclaimed, leaning over and looking down the steep slope of the bluff. “Why run the risk of shooting people when all you have to do is to take them for a ride to this snug little shelf, jump from the car, and let them topple—machine and all—over the precipice? Just another unfortunate auto accident—and no one the wiser! . . . Really, I think I’ll take up crime in a serious way.”
I felt a shudder pass over Ada’s body, and I noticed that her face paled. Sibella’s comments struck me as particularly heartless and unthinking in view of the terrible experience through which her sister had so recently passed. The cruelty of her words evidently struck the doctor also, for he turned toward her with a look of consternation.
Vance glanced quickly at Ada, and then attempted to banish the embarrassment of the tense silence by remarking lightly:
“We refuse to take alarm, however, Miss Greene; for no one, d’ ye see, could seriously consider a criminal career on a day as perfect as this. Taine’s theory of climatic influences is most comfortin’ in moments like this.”
Von Blon said nothing, but his reproachful eyes did not leave Sibella’s face.
“Oh, let us go back!” cried Ada pitifully, nestling closer under the lap-robe, as if the air had suddenly become chill.
Without a word Von Blon reversed the machine; and a moment later we were on our way back to the city.
CHAPTER XIII.
The Third Tragedy
(November 28 and November 30)
The following Sunday evening, November 28, Markham invited Inspector Moran and Heath to the Stuyvesant Club for an informal conference. Vance and I had dined with him and were present when the two police officials arrived. We retired to Markham’s favorite corner of the club’s lounge-room; and soon a general discussion of the Greene murders was under way.