LITMIR.BIZ

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that the door had been bolted. At last the janitor was dismissed.

      “Really, y’ know, Sergeant,” remarked Vance with an amused smile, “that honest Rheinlander bolted the door.”

      “Sure, he did,” spluttered Heath; “and I found it still bolted this morning at quarter of eight. That’s just what messes things up so nice and pretty. If that door was bolted from six o’clock last evening until eight o’clock this morning, I’d appreciate having some one drive up in a hearse and tell me how the Canary’s little playmate got in here last night. And I’d also like to know how he got out.”

      “Why not through the main entrance?” asked Markham. “It seems the only logical way left, according to your own findings.”

      “That’s how I had it figured out, sir,” returned Heath. “But wait till you hear what the phone operator has to say.”

      “And the phone operator’s post,” mused Vance, “is in the main hall half-way between the front door and this apartment. Therefore, the gentleman who caused all the disturbance hereabouts last night would have had to pass within a few feet of the operator both on arriving and departing—eh, what?”

      “That’s it!” snapped Heath. “And, according to the operator, no such person came or went.”

      Markham seemed to have absorbed some of Heath’s irritability.

      “Get the fellow in here, and let me question him,” he ordered.

      Heath obeyed with a kind of malicious alacrity.

      Chapter VI. A Call for Help

(Tuesday, September 11; 11 a.m.)

      Jessup made a good impression from the moment he entered the room. He was a serious, determined-looking man in his early thirties, rugged and well built; and there was a squareness to his shoulders that carried a suggestion of military training. He walked with a decided limp—his right foot dragged perceptibly—and I noted that his left arm had been stiffened into a permanent arc, as if by an unreduced fracture of the elbow. He was quiet and reserved, and his eyes were steady and intelligent. Markham at once motioned him to a wicker chair beside the closet door, but he declined it, and stood before the District Attorney in a soldierly attitude of respectful attention. Markham opened the interrogation with several personal questions. It transpired that Jessup had been a sergeant in the World War,[31] had twice been seriously wounded, and had been invalided home shortly before the Armistice. He had held his present post of telephone operator for over a year.

      “Now, Jessup,” continued Markham, “there are things connected with last night’s tragedy that you can tell us.”

      “Yes, sir.” There was no doubt that this ex-soldier would tell us accurately anything he knew, and also that, if he had any doubt as to the correctness of his information, he would frankly say so. He possessed all the qualities of a careful and well-trained witness.

      “First of all, what time did you come on duty last night?”

      “At ten o’clock, sir.” There was no qualification to this blunt statement; one felt that Jessup would arrive punctually at whatever hour he was due. “It was my short shift. The day man and myself alternate in long and short shifts.”

      “And did you see Miss Odell come in last night after the theatre?”

      “Yes, sir. Every one who comes in has to pass the switchboard.”

      “What time did she arrive?”

      “It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes after eleven.”

      “Was she alone?”

      “No, sir. There was a gentleman with her.”

      “Do you know who he was?”

      “I don’t know his name, sir. But I have seen him several times before when he has called on Miss Odell.”

      “You could describe him, I suppose.”

      “Yes, sir. He’s tall and clean-shaven except for a very short gray moustache, and is about forty-five, I should say. He looks—if you understand me, sir—like a man of wealth and position.”

      Markham nodded. “And now, tell me: did he accompany Miss Odell into her apartment, or did he go immediately away?”

      “He went in with Miss Odell, and stayed about half an hour.”

      Markham’s eyes brightened, and there was a suppressed eagerness in his next words.

      “Then he arrived about eleven, and was alone with Miss Odell in her apartment until about half past eleven. You’re sure of these facts?”

      “Yes, sir, that’s correct,” the man affirmed.

      Markham paused and leaned forward.

      “Now, Jessup, think carefully before answering: did any one else call on Miss Odell at any time last night?”

      “No one, sir,” was the unhesitating reply.

      “How can you be so sure?”

      “I would have seen them, sir. They would have had to pass the switchboard in order to reach this apartment.”

      “And don’t you ever leave the switchboard?” asked Markham.

      “No, sir,” the man assured him vigorously, as if protesting against the implication that he would desert a post of duty. “When I want a drink of water, or go to the toilet, I use the little lavatory in the reception-room; but I always hold the door open and keep my eye on the switchboard in case the pilot-light should show up for a telephone call. Nobody could walk down the hall, even if I was in the lavatory, without my seeing them.”

      One could well believe that the conscientious Jessup kept his eye at all times on the switchboard lest a call should flash and go unanswered. The man’s earnestness and reliability were obvious; and there was no doubt in any of our minds, I think, that if Miss Odell had had another visitor that night, Jessup would have known of it.

      But Heath, with the thoroughness of his nature, rose quickly and stepped out into the main hall. In a moment he returned, looking troubled but satisfied.

      “Right!” he nodded to Markham. “The lavatory door’s on a direct unobstructed line with the switchboard.”

      Jessup took no notice of this verification of his statement, and stood, his eyes attentively on the District Attorney, awaiting any further questions that might be asked him. There was something both admirable and confidence-inspiring in his unruffled demeanor.

      “What about last night?” resumed Markham. “Did you leave the switchboard often, or for long?”

      “Just once, sir; and then only to go to the lavatory for a minute or two. But I watched the board the whole time.”

      “And you’d be willing to state on oath that no one else called on Miss Odell from ten o’clock on, and that no one, except her escort, left her apartment after that hour?”

      “Yes, sir, I would.”

      He was plainly telling the truth, and Markham pondered several moments before proceeding.

      “What about the side door?”

      “That’s kept locked all night, sir. The janitor bolts it when he leaves, and unbolts it in the morning. I never touch it.”

      Markham leaned back and turned to Heath.

      “The testimony of the janitor and Jessup here,” he said, “seems to limit the situation pretty narrowly to Miss Odell’s escort. If, as seems reasonable to assume, the side door was bolted all night, and if no other caller came or went through the front door, it looks as if the man we wanted to find was the one who brought her home.”

      Heath gave a short mirthless laugh.

      “That would be fine, sir, if something else hadn’t happened around here last night.” Then, to Jessup: “Tell the District Attorney the rest of the story about this man.”

      Markham

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