"Did I not see you in the corridor of the Atlas Building the day of the first electrical failure?" asked Darrow.
"Certainly."
"Then you had just as much to go on as I did," drawled Darrow, half closing his eyes. The long dark lashes fell across his cheek, investing him in his most harmless and effeminate look.
"I fail to—"
"Yes, you fail, all right," interrupted Darrow. "You had all the strings in your hands, but you were a mile behind me in the solution of this mystery. I'll tell you why: it was for the same reason that you're going to fail a second time, now that once again I've put all the strings in your hands."
"I must confess I fail to gather your meaning," said Professor Eldridge coldly.
"It was for the same reason that always until his death you were inferior to dear old Doctor Schermerhorn as a scientist. You are an almost perfect thinking machine."
Darrow quite deliberately lighted a cigarette, flipped the match into the grate, and leaned back luxuriously. Professor Eldridge sat bolt upright, waiting. Helen Warford watched them both.
"You have no humanity; you have no imagination," stated Darrow at last.
"You follow the dictates of rigid science, and of logic."
"Most certainly," Eldridge agreed to this, as to a compliment.