"I shouldn't say, to judge from our description of him, that his conversation would prove particularly fascinatin'."
An ugly light came into Heath's eyes.
"We've got ways," he said through his teeth, "of getting damn interesting conversation outa people who haven't no great reputation for repartee."
Vance sighed. "How the Four Hundred needs you, my Sergeant!"
Markham looked at his watch.
"I've got pressing work at the office," he said, "and all this talk isn't getting us anywhere." He put his hand on Heath's shoulder. "I leave you to go ahead. This afternoon I'll have these people brought down to my office for another questioning—maybe I can jog their memories a bit. . . . You've got some line of investigation planned?"
"The usual routine," replied Heath drearily. "I'll go through Odell's papers, and I'll have three or four of my men check up on her."
"You'd better get after the Yellow Taxicab Company right away," Markham suggested. "Find out, if you can, who the man was who left here at half past eleven last night, and where he went."
"Do you imagine for one moment," asked Vance, "that if this man knew anything about the murder, he would have stopped in the hall and asked the operator to call a taxi for him?"
"Oh, I don't look for much in that direction." Markham's tone was almost listless. "But the girl may have said something to him that'll give us a lead."
Vance shook his head facetiously. "O welcome
