might delay the slaughter for the time being; but we'd learn nothing. And our only hope is to find out—some way—what's at the bottom of this atrocious business."
"Yeh? And how are we going to do that, Mr. Vance?" Heath spoke with despair.
"I don't know now. But the Greene household is safe for to-night anyway; and that gives us a little time. I think I'll have another talk with Von Blon. Doctors—especially the younger ones—are apt to give snap diagnoses."
Heath had hailed a taxicab, and we were headed down-town along Third Avenue.
"It can certainly do no harm," agreed Markham. "And it might bring forth something suggestive. When will you tackle him?"
Vance was gazing out of the window.
"Why not at once?" Suddenly his mood had changed. "Here we are in the Forties. And tea-time! What could be more opportune?"
He leaned over and gave the chauffeur an order. In a few minutes the taxicab drew up to the curb before Von Blon's brownstone residence.
The doctor received us apprehensively.
"Nothing wrong, I hope?" he asked, trying to read our faces.
"Oh, no," Vance answered easily. "We were passing and thought we'd drop in for a dish of tea and a medical chat."
Von Blon studied him with a slight suspicion.
"Very well. You gentlemen shall have both." He rang for his man. "But I can do even better. I've some old Amontillado sherry"
