The corners of Vance’s mouth twitched. “It really doesn’t matter, Barton,” he said quickly.
“Aren’t you going to ask me any questions about—what happened last night?” the girl asked, with obvious disappointment.
“Oh! Do you know anything about what happened?”
“Why, no,” she admitted. “I was asleep——”
“Exactly. Therefore, I sha’n’t bother you with questions.” He dismissed her good-naturedly.
“Damn it, Markham, I protest!” cried Greene, when Barton had left us. “I call this—this gentleman’s levity rotten-bad taste—damme if I don’t!”
Markham, too, was annoyed at the frivolous line of interrogation Vance had taken.
“I can’t see what’s to be gained by such futile inquiries,” he said, striving to control his irritation.
“That’s because you’re still holding to the burglar theory,” Vance replied. “But if, as Mr. Greene thinks, there is another explanation of last night’s crime, then it’s essential to acquaint ourselves with the conditions existing here. And it’s equally essential not to rouse the suspicions of the servants. Hence, my apparent irrelevancies. I’m trying to size up the various human factors we have to deal with; and I think I’ve done uncommonly well. Several rather interesting possibilities have developed.”
Before Markham could reply Sproot passed the archway and opened the front door to some one whom he greeted respectfully. Greene immediately went into the hall.