“What’s the point?”
“Don’t you see?” Vance came quickly to the District Attorney’s desk. “My word! That’s the one fact that’s missing from my tabulation.” He then unfolded the last sheet and wrote:
98. Sibella and Von Blon were secretly married a year ago.
“But I don’t see how that helps,” protested Markham.
“Neither do I at this moment,” Vance replied. “But I’m going to spend this evening in erudite meditation.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
A Mysterious Trip
(Sunday, December 5)
The Boston Symphony Orchestra was scheduled that afternoon to play a Bach Concerto and Beethoven’s C-Minor Symphony; and Vance, on leaving the District Attorney’s office, rode direct to Carnegie Hall. He sat through the concert in a state of relaxed receptivity, and afterward insisted on walking the two miles back to his quarters—an almost unheard-of thing for him.
Shortly after dinner Vance bade me good night and, donning his slippers and house-robe, went into the library. I had considerable work to do that night, and it was long past midnight when I finished. On the way to my room I passed the library door, which had been left slightly ajar, and I saw Vance sitting at his desk—his head in his hands, the summary lying before him—in an attitude of oblivious concentration. He was smoking, as was habitual with him during any sort of mental activity; and the ash-receiver at his elbow was filled with cigarette-stubs. I moved on quietly, marvelling at the way this new problem had taken hold of him.
It was half past three in the morning when I suddenly awoke, conscious of footsteps somewhere in the house. Rising quietly, I went into the hall, drawn by a vague curiosity mingled with uneasiness. At the end of the corridor a panel of light fell on the wall, and as I moved forward in the semidarkness I saw that the light issued from the partly open library door. At the same time I became aware that the footsteps, too, came from that room. I could not resist looking inside; and there I saw Vance walking up and down, his chin sunk on his breast, his hands crammed into the deep pockets of his dressing-gown. The room was dense with cigarette-smoke, and his figure appeared misty in the blue haze. I went back to bed and lay awake for an hour. When finally I dozed off it was to the accompaniment of those rhythmic footfalls in the library.