had, Markham old dear, you'd have regretted it to your dying day."
Markham studied him for a few seconds. He knew there was something more than a mere whim beneath Vance's certitude of manner; and it was this knowledge that had stayed his hand when he was about to have the woman placed in custody.
"Her attitude was certainly not conducive to one's belief in her innocence," Markham objected. "She played her part damned cleverly, though. But it was just the part a shrewd woman, knowing herself guilty, would have played."
"I say, didn't it occur to you," asked Vance, "that perhaps she didn't care a farthing whether you thought her guilty or not?—that, in fact, she was a bit disappointed when you let her go?"
"That's hardly the way I read the situation," returned Markham. "Whether guilty or innocent, a person doesn't ordinarily invite arrest."
"By the bye," asked Vance, "where was the fortunate swain during the hour of Alvin's passing?"
"Do you think we didn't check up on that point?" Markham spoke with disdain. "Captain Leacock was at his own apartment that night from eight o'clock on."
"Was he, really?" airily retorted Vance. "A most model young fella!"
Again Markham looked at him sharply.
"I'd like to know what weird theory has been struggling in your brain to-day," he mused. "Now that I've let the lady go temporarily—which is what you obviously wanted me to do—, and have stul-
