Africa. He asked numerous questions about Benson's other friends, but paid scant attention to the answers.
The whole interview impressed me as pointless, and I could not help wondering what Vance hoped to learn. Markham, I was convinced, was equally at sea. He pretended polite interest, and nodded appreciatively during the Colonel's incredibly drawn-out periods; but his eyes wandered occasionally, and several times I saw him give Vance a look of reproachful inquiry. There was no doubt, however, that Colonel Ostrander knew his people.
When we were back in the District Attorney's office, having taken leave of our garrulous guest at the subway entrance, Vance threw himself into one of the easy chairs with an air of satisfaction.
"Most entertainin', what? As an elim'nator of suspects the Colonel has his good points."
"Eliminator!" retorted Markham. "It's a good thing he's not connected with the police: he'd have half the community jailed for shooting Benson."
"He is a bit blood-thirsty," Vance admitted. "He's determined to get somebody jailed for the crime."
"According to that old warrior, Benson's coterie was a camorra of gunmen—not forgetting the women. I couldn't help getting the impression, as he talked, that Benson was miraculously lucky not to have been riddled with bullets long ago."
"It's obvious," commented Vance, "that you overlooked the illuminatin' flashes in the Colonel's thunder."
"Were there any?" Markham asked. "At any
