"In that case, let us consider the interview at an end."
The moment Captain Leacock had gone, Markham rang for one of his clerks.
"Tell Ben to have that man followed. Find out where he goes and what he does. I want a report at the Stuyvesant Club to-night."
When we were alone Vance gave Markham a look of half-bantering admiration.
"Ingenious—not to say artful. . . . But, y' know, your questions about the lady were shocking bad form."
"No doubt," Markham agreed. "But it looks now as if we were on the right track. Leacock didn't create an impression of unassailable innocence."
"Didn't he?" asked Vance. "Just what were the signs of his assailable guilt?"
"You saw him turn white when I questioned him about the weapon. His nerves were on edge,—he was genuinely frightened."
Vance sighed.
"What a perfect ready-made set of notions you have, Markham! Don't you know that an innocent man, when he comes under suspicion, is apt to be more nervous than a guilty one, who, to begin with, had enough nerve to commit the crime, and, secondly, realizes that any show of nervousness is regarded as guilt by you lawyer chaps? 'My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure' is a mere Sunday-school pleasantry. Touch almost any innocent man on the shoulder and say 'You're arrested', and his pupils will dilate, he'll break out in a cold
