"The hell I will!" said Heath.
Swacker came in with a typewritten memorandum, and put it on the District Attorney's desk.
"The architect just phoned in this report."
Markham glanced it over: it was very brief.
"No help here," he said. "Walls solid. No waste space. No hidden entrances."
"Too bad, Sergeant," sighed Vance. "You'll have to drop the cinema idea. . . . Sad."
Heath grunted and looked disconsolate.
"Even without no other way of getting in or out except that side door," he said to Markham, "couldn't we get an indictment against Skeel, now that we know the door was unlocked Monday night?"
"We might, Sergeant. But our chief snag would be to show how it was originally unlocked and then rebolted after Skeel left. And Abe Rubin would concentrate on that point.—No, we'd better wait a while and see what develops."
Something "developed" at once. Swacker entered and informed the Sergeant that Snitkin wanted to see him immediately.
Snitkin came in, visibly agitated, accompanied by a wizened, shabbily dressed little man of about sixty, who appeared awed and terrified. In the detective's hand was a small parcel wrapped in newspaper, which he laid on the District Attorney's desk with an air of triumph.
"The Canary's jewellery," he announced. "I've checked it up from the list the maid gave me, and it's all there."
Heath sprang forward, but Markham was already
