. . . Did you ring the bell? Or was the front door unlatched?"
Leacock was about to answer, but hesitated. Evidently he recalled the newspaper accounts of the housekeeper's testimony in which she asserted positively that the bell had not rung that night.
"What difference does it make?" He was sparring for time.
"We'd like to know—that's all," Vance told him. "But no hurry."
"Well, if it's so important to you: I didn't ring the bell; and the door wasn't unlocked." His hesitancy was gone. "Just as I reached the house, Benson drove up in a taxicab"
"Just a moment. Did you happen to notice another car standing in front of the house? A grey Cadillac?"
"Why—yes."
"Did you recognize its occupant?"
There was another short silence.
"I'm not sure. I think it was a man named Pfyfe."
"He and Mr. Benson were outside at the same time, then?"
Leacock frowned.
"No—not at the same time. There was nobody there when I arrived. . . . I didn't see Pfyfe until I came out a few minutes later."
"He arrived in his car when you were inside,—is that it?"
"He must have."
"I see. . . . And now to go back a little: Benson drove up in a taxicab. Then what?"
