"Well, Chief," rasped Phelps, "I guess your troubles are about over—though I sure did think that fellow Leacock was your man. . . . Who got the dope on this Major Benson?"
"Sergeant Heath and the Homicide Bureau will receive entire credit for the work," said Markham; and added: "I'm sorry, Phelps, but the District Attorney's office, and everyone connected with it, will be kept out of it altogether."
"Oh, well, it's all in a lifetime," observed Phelps philosophically.
We sat in strained silence until the Major arrived. Markham smoked abstractedly. He glanced several times over the sheet of notations left by Stitt, and once he went to the water-cooler for a drink. Vance opened at random a law book before him, and perused with an amused smile a bribery-case decision by a Western judge. Heath and Phelps, habituated to waiting, scarcely moved.
When Major Benson entered Markham greeted him with exaggerated casualness, and busied himself with some papers in a drawer to avoid shaking hands. Heath, however, was almost jovial. He drew out the Major's chair for him, and uttered a ponderous banality about the weather. Vance closed the law book and sat erect with his feet drawn back.
Major Benson was cordially dignified. He gave Markham a swift glance; but if he suspected anything, he showed no outward sign of it.
"Major, I want you to answer a few questions—if you care to." Markham's voice, though low, had in it a resonant quality.
"Anything at all," returned the other easily.
