somewhat aroused my admiration despite my revulsion toward him and all he stood for.
After half an hour Markham gave up, completely baffled in his efforts to elicit any damaging admissions from the man. He was about to dismiss him when Vance rose languidly and strolled to the District Attorney's desk. Seating himself on the edge of it, he regarded Skeel with impersonal curiosity.
"So you're a devotee of Khun Khan, eh?" he remarked indifferently. "Silly game, what? More interestin' than Conquain or Rum, though. Used to be played in the London clubs. Of East Indian origin, I believe. . . . You still play it with two decks, I suppose, and permit round-the-corner mating?"
An involuntary frown gathered on Skeel's forehead. He was used to violent district attorneys, and familiar with the bludgeoning methods of the police, but here was a type of inquisitor entirely new to him; and it was plain that he was both puzzled and apprehensive. He decided to meet this novel antagonist with a smirk of arrogant amusement.
"By the bye," continued Vance, with no change in tone, "can any one hidden in the clothes-press of the Odell living-room see the davenport through the keyhole?"
Suddenly all trace of a smile was erased from the man's features.
"And I say," Vance hurried on, his eyes fixed steadily on the other, "why didn't you give the alarm?"
I was watching Skeel closely, and, though his set expression did not alter, I saw the pupils of his eyes
