elab'rate it, and bedeck it with innum'rable meaningless phrases and recondite legal idioms."
Markham did not answer at once. He paused by the French windows and looked down into the street. Then he said:
"Yes, I think you've made out a case. . . . Extraordinary! I've wondered from the first what you were getting at; and your questioning of Platz yesterday impressed me as pointless. I'll admit it never occurred to me to suspect her. Benson must have given her good cause."
He turned and came slowly toward us, his head down, his hands behind him.
"I don't like the idea of arresting her. . . . Funny I never thought of her in connection with it."
He stopped in front of Vance.
"And you yourself didn't think of her at first, despite your boast that you knew who did it after you'd been in Benson's house five minutes."
Vance smiled mirthfully, and sprawled in his chair.
Markham became indignant.
"Damn it! You told me the next day that no woman could have done it, no matter what evidence was adduced, and harangued me about art and psychology and God knows what."
"Quite right," murmured Vance, still smiling. "No woman did it."
"No woman did it!" Markham's gorge was rising rapidly.
"Oh, dear no!"
He pointed to the sheet of paper in Markham's hand.
