"I went up to him and said I wanted to speak to him. He told me to come inside, and we went in together. He used his latch-key."
"And now, Captain, tell us just what happened after you and Mr. Benson entered the house."
"He laid his hat and stick on the hat-rack, and we walked into the living-room. He sat down by the table, and I stood up and said—what I had to say. Then I drew my gun, and shot him."
Vance was closely watching the man, and Markham was leaning forward tensely.
"How did it happen that he was reading at the time?"
"I believe he did pick up a book while I was talking. . . . Trying to appear indifferent, I reckon."
"Think now: you and Mr. Benson went into the living-room directly from the hall, as soon as you entered the house?"
"Yes."
"Then how do you account for the fact, Captain, that when Mr. Benson was shot he had on his smoking-jacket and slippers?"
Leacock glanced nervously about the room. Before he answered he wet his lips with his tongue.
"Now that I think of it, Benson did go upstairs for a few minutes first. . . . I guess I was too excited," he added desperately, "to recollect everything."
"That's natural," Vance said sympathetically. "But when he came downstairs did you happen to notice anything peculiar about his hair?"
Leacock looked up vaguely.
"His hair? I—don't understand."
