thereabouts it was still here. But the next time I come by, it was gone."
"You saw nothing else? Nobody in the car, or anyone hanging around who might have been the owner?"
"No, sir, I did not."
Several other questions of a similar nature were asked him; but nothing more could be learned, and he was dismissed.
"Anyway," remarked Heath, "the car story will be good stuff to hand the reporters."
Vance had sat through the questioning of McLaughlin with drowsy inattention,—I doubt if he even heard more than the first few words of the officer's report,—and now, with a stifled yawn, he rose and, sauntering to the center-table, picked up one of the cigarette butts that had been found in the fireplace. After rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and scrutinizing the tip, he ripped the paper open with his thumb-nail, and held the exposed tobacco to his nose.
Heath, who had been watching him gloweringly, leaned suddenly forward in his chair.
"What are you doing there?" he demanded, in a tone of surly truculence.
Vance lifted his eyes in decorous astonishment.
"Merely smelling of the tobacco," he replied, with condescending unconcern. "It's rather mild, y' know, but delicately blended."
The muscles in Heath's cheeks worked angrily. "Well, you'd better put it down, sir," he advised. Then he looked Vance up and down. "Tobacco expert?" he asked, with ill disguised sarcasm.
