Free The Benson Murder Case by S. S. Van Dine Page A

y’know, your myrmidons wouldn’t discover the lady. I haven’t the pleasure of her acquaintance, or I’d send her a note of commiseration…. Now, I presume, you’ll play the
juge d’instruction
and chivvy her most horribly, what?”
    â€œI shall certainly question her, if that’s what you mean.”
    Markham’s manner was preoccupied, and during the rest of the lunch we spoke but little.
    As we sat in the Club’s lounge-room later, having our smoke, Major Benson, who had been standing dejectedly at a window close by, caught sight of Markham and came over to us. He was a full-faced man of about fifty, with grave kindly features and a sturdy, erect body.
    He greeted Vance and me with a casual bow, and turned at once to the District Attorney.
    â€œMarkham, I’ve been thinking things over constantly since our lunch yesterday,” he said, “and there’s one other suggestion I think I might make. There’s a man named Leander Pfyfe who was very close to Alvin; and it’s possible he could give you some helpful information. His name didn’t occur to me yesterday, for he doesn’t live in the city; he’s on Long Island somewhere—Port Washington, I think. It’s just an idea. The truth is, I can’t seem to figure out anything that makes sense in this terrible affair.”
    He drew a quick, resolute breath, as if to check some involuntary sign of emotion. It was evident that the man, for all his habitual passivity of nature, was deeply moved.
    â€œThat’s a good suggestion, Major,” Markham said, making a notation on the back of a letter. “I’ll get after it immediately.”
    Vance, who, during this brief interchange, had beengazing unconcernedly out of the window, turned and addressed himself to the Major.
    â€œHow about Colonel Ostrander? I’ve seen him several times in the company of your brother.”
    Major Benson made a slight gesture of deprecation.
    â€œOnly an acquaintance. He’d be of no value.”
    Then he turned to Markham.
    â€œI don’t imagine it’s time even to hope that you’ve run across anything?”
    Markham took his cigar from his mouth, and turning it about in his fingers, contemplated it thoughtfully.
    â€œI wouldn’t say that,” he remarked after a moment. “I’ve managed to find out whom your brother dined with Thursday night; and I know that this person returned home with him shortly after midnight.” He paused as if deliberating the wisdom of saying more. Then: “The fact is, I don’t need a great deal more evidence than I’ve got already to go before the Grand Jury and ask for an indictment.”
    A look of surprised admiration flashed in the Major’s sombre face.
    â€œThank God for that, Markham!” he said. Then, setting his heavy jaw, he placed his hand on the District Attorney’s shoulder. “Go the limit—for my sake!” he urged. “If you want me for anything, I’ll be here at the Club till late.”
    With this he turned and walked from the room.
    â€œIt seems a bit cold-blooded to bother the Major with questions so soon after his brother’s death,” commented Markham. “Still, the world has got to go on.”
    Vance stifled a yawn.
    â€œWhy—in heaven’s name?” he murmured listlessly.

Chapter VI
Vance Offers an Opinion
    (
Saturday
,
June
15
th
; 2
p.m.
)
    We sat for a while smoking in silence, Vance gazing lazily out into Madison Square, Markham frowning deeply at thefaded oil portrait of old Peter Stuyvesant that hung over the fireplace.
    Presently Vance turned and contemplated the District Attorney with a faintly sardonic smile.
    â€œI say, Markham,” he drawled; “it has always been a source of amazement to me how easily you investigators of crime are misled by what you call clues. You find a footprint, or a parked motor-car, or a monogrammed