The «Canary» Murder Case / Смерть Канарейки. Книга для чтения на английском языке - стр. 17
“The lamp might’ve been knocked over in the same way,” argued Heath.
Vance shook his head. “Not tenable, Sergeant. It has a solid bronze base, and isn’t at all top-heavy; and being set well back on the table, it wasn’t in any one’s way. … That lamp was upset deliberately.”
The Sergeant was silent for a while. Experience had taught him not to underestimate Vance’s observations; and, I must confess, as I looked at the lamp lying on its side on the end of the library-table, well removed from any of the other disordered objects in the room, Vance’s argument seemed to possess considerable force. I tried hard to fit it into a hasty reconstruction of the crime, but was utterly unable to do so.
“Anything else that don’t seem to fit into the picture?” Heath at length asked.
Vance pointed with his cigarette toward the clothes-closet in the living-room. This closet was alongside of the foyer, in the corner near the Boule cabinet, directly opposite to the end of the davenport.
“You might let your mind dally a moment with the condition of that clothes-press,” suggested Vance carelessly. “You will note that, though the door’s ajar, the contents have not been touched. And it’s about the only area in the apartment that hasn’t been disturbed.”
Heath walked over and looked into the closet.
“Well, anyway, I’ll admit that’s queer,” he finally conceded.
Vance had followed him indolently, and stood gazing over his shoulder.
“And my word!” he exclaimed suddenly. “The key’s on the inside of the lock. Fancy that, now! One can’t lock a closet door with the key on the inside—can one, Sergeant?”
“The key may not mean anything,” Heath observed hopefully. “Maybe the door was never locked. Anyhow, we’ll find out about that pretty soon. I’m holding the maid outside, and I’m going to have her on the carpet as soon as the Captain finishes his job here.”
He turned to Dubois, who, having completed his search for finger-prints in the bedroom, was now inspecting the piano.
“Any luck yet?”
The Captain shook his head.
“Gloves,” he answered succinctly.
“Same here,” supplemented Bellamy gruffly, on his knees before the escritoire.
Vance, with a sardonic smile, turned and walked to the window, where he stood looking out and smoking placidly, as if his entire interest in the case had evaporated.
At this moment the door from the main hall opened, and a short thin little man, with gray hair and a scraggly gray beard, stepped inside and stood blinking against the vivid sunlight.
“Good morning, Professor,” Heath greeted the newcomer. “Glad to see you. I’ve got something nifty, right in your line.”
Deputy-Inspector Conrad Brenner was one of that small army of obscure, but highly capable, experts who are connected with the New York Police Department, and who are constantly being consulted on abstruse technical problems, but whose names and achievements rarely get into the public prints. His specialty was locks and burglars’ tools; and I doubt if, even among those exhaustively pains-taking criminologists of the University of Lausanne, there was a more accurate reader of the evidential signs left by the implements of house-breakers. In appearance and bearing he was like a withered little college professor.[24] His black, unpressed suit was old-fashioned in cut; and he wore a very high stiff collar, like a