called again at half past nine that night, but he says that when he found she was out, he went straight home and stayed there. His alibi is that he sat up with his landlady till after midnight playing Khun Khan and drinking beer. I hopped up to his place this morning, and the old girl verified it. But that don't mean anything. The house he lives in is a pretty tough hang-out, and this landlady, besides being a heavy boozer, has been up the river a coupla times for shoplifting."
"What does Skeel say about the finger-prints?"
"He says, of course, he made 'em when he was there in the afternoon."
"And the one on the closet door-knob?"
Heath gave a derisive grunt.
"He's got an answer for that, too—says he thought he heard some one coming in, and locked himself in the clothes-closet. Didn't want to be seen and spoil any game Odell mighta been playing."
"Most considerate of him to keep out of the way of the belles poires," drawled Vance. "Touchin' loyalty, what?"
"You don't believe the rat, do you, Mr. Vance?" asked Heath, with indignant surprise.
"Can't say that I do. But our Antonio at least spins a consistent yarn."
"Too damn consistent to suit me," growled the Sergeant.
"That's all you could get out of him?" It was plain that Markham was not pleased with the results of Heath's third degree of Skeel.
"That's about all, sir. He stuck to his story like a leech."
