indigestion. There's where his devils and demons and ideas of hell came from: they were the nightmares of his dyspepsia. Then, as man began to master the technique of cooking, he became civilized; and when he achieved the highest pinnacles of the culin'ry art, he also achieved the highest pinnacles of cultural and intellectual glory. When the art of the gourmet retrogressed, so did man. The tasteless, standardized cookery of America is typical of our decadence. A perfectly blended soup, Markham, is more ennoblin' than Beethoven's C-minor Symphony. . . ."
Markham listened stolidly to Vance's chatter during breakfast. He made several attempts to bring up the subject of the crime, but Vance glibly ignored each essay. It was not until Currie had cleared away the dishes that he referred to the object of Markham's visit.
"Did you bring the alibi reports?" was his first question.
Markham nodded.
"And it took me two hours to find Heath after you'd gone last night."
"Sad," breathed Vance.
He went to the desk, and took a closely written double sheet of foolscap from one of the compartments.
"I wish you'd glance this over, and give me your learned opinion," he said, handing the paper to Markham. "I prepared it last night after the concert."
I later took possession of the document, and filed
