The «Canary» Murder Case / Смерть Канарейки. Книга для чтения на английском языке - стр. 23
“That door,” explained Heath, “is the only side or rear entrance to this building; and when that door is bolted nobody can get into the house except by the front entrance. You can’t even get into the building 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.”
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[30]—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. If that door was bolted from six o’clock last evening until eight o’clock this morning, I’d appreciate having some one drive up in a hearse and tell me how the Canary’s little playmate got in here last night. And I’d also like to know how he got out.”