ing through the other apartments, for every window on this floor is barred. I checked up on that point as soon as I got here."
He led the way back into the living-room.
"Now, after I'd looked over the situation this morning," he went on, "I figured that our man had entered through that side door at the end of the passageway, and had slipped into this apartment without the night operator seeing him. So I tried the side door to see if it was open. But it was bolted on the inside—not locked, mind you, but bolted. And it wasn't a slip-bolt, either, that could have been jimmied or worked open from the outside, but a tough old-fashioned turn-bolt of solid brass. . . . And now I want you to hear what the janitor's got to say about it."
Markham nodded acquiescence, and Heath called an order to one of the officers in the hall. A moment later a stolid, middle-aged German, with sullen features and high cheek-bones, stood before us. His jaw was clamped tight, and he shifted his eyes from one to the other of us suspiciously.
Heath straightway assumed the rôle of inquisitor.
"What time do you leave here at night?" He had, for some reason, assumed a belligerent manner.
"Six o'clock—sometimes earlier, sometimes later." The man spoke in a surly monotone. He was obviously resentful at this unexpected intrusion upon his orderly routine.
"And what time do you get here in the morning?"
"Eight o'clock, regular."
"What time did you go home last night?"
"About six—maybe quarter past."
