Heath paused and finally lighted the cigar on which he had been chewing at intervals during the past hour.
"Now, tell me about that side door," he went on, with undiminished aggressiveness. "You told me you lock it every night before you leave—is that right?"
"Ja—that's right." The man nodded his head affirmatively several times. "Only I don't lock it—I bolt it."
"All right, you bolt it, then." As Heath talked his cigar bobbed up and down between his lips: smoke and words came simultaneously from his mouth. "And last night you bolted it as usual about six o'clock?"
"Maybe a quarter past," the janitor amended, with Germanic precision.
"You're sure you bolted it last night?" The question was almost ferocious.
"Ja, ja. Sure, I am. I do it every night. I never miss."
The man's earnestness left no doubt that the door in question had indeed been bolted on the inside at about six o'clock of the previous evening. Heath, however, belabored the point for several minutes, only to be reassured doggedly 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.
