"But, my word!—such technique!" sighed Vance. "Ah, well, quantum est in rebus inane! as we laymen say."
"You don't think much of Heath's capacity, I know,"—Markham's voice was patient—"but he's a clever man, and one that it's very easy to underestimate."
"I dare say," murmured Vance. "Anyway, I'm deuced grateful to you, and all that, for letting me behold the solemn proceedings. I've been vastly amused, even if not uplifted. Your official Æsculapius rather appealed to me, y' know—such a brisk, unemotional chap, and utterly unimpressed with the corpse. He really should have taken up crime in a serious way, instead of studying medicine."
Markham lapsed into gloomy silence, and sat looking out of the window in troubled meditation until we reached Vance's house.
"I don't like the looks of things," he remarked, as we drew up to the curb. "I have a curious feeling about this case."
Vance regarded him a moment from the corner of his eye.
"See here, Markham," he said with unwonted seriousness; "haven't you any idea who shot Benson?"
Markham forced a faint smile.
"I wish I had. Crimes of wilful murder are not so easily solved. And this case strikes me as a particularly complex one."
"Fancy, now!" said Vance, as he stepped out of the machine. "And I thought it extr'ordin'rily simple."
