“You don’t say.” Flannery looked at Chan coldly. “What was that?”
“Sir Frederic English detective, and great one. All English detectives make exhausting records of every case. No question that records of certain case, in which murderer was hotly interested, were sought here.”
“Maybe,” admitted the Captain. “We’ll go over the room later.” He turned to the patrolmen. “You boys take a look at the fire-escape.” They climbed out into the fog. At that moment the door leading from the reception-room into the hallway opened, and an odd little group came in. A stout, middle-aged man led the procession; he was Mr. Cuttle, the night-watchman.
“Here they are, Captain,” he said. “I’ve rounded up everybody in the building, except a few cleaning women who have nothing to do with this floor. You can see ’em later, if you like. This is Mrs. Dyke, who takes care of the two top floors.”
Mrs. Dyke, very frightened, said that she had finished with Kirk’s office at seven and gone out, leaving the burglar alarm in working order, as was her custom. She had not been back since. She had seen no one about the building whom she did not recognize.
“And who is this?” inquired the Captain, turning to a pale, sandy-haired young man who appeared extremely nervous.
“I am employed by Brace and Davis, Certified Public Accountants, on the second floor,” said the young man. “My name is Samuel Smith. I was working tonight to catch up—I have been ill—when Mr. Cuttle informed me I was wanted up here. I know nothing of this horrible affair.”
Flannery turned to the fourth and last member of the party, a young woman whose uniform marked her as an operator of one of the elevators. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Grace Lane, sir,” she told him.
“Run the elevator, eh?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Kirk had sent word that one of us must work overtime tonight. On account of the party.”
“How many people have you brought up since the close of business?”
“I didn’t keep count. Quite a few—ladies and gentlemen—Mr. Kirk’s guests, of course.”
“Don’t remember anybody who looked like an outsider?”
“No, sir.”
“This is a big building,” said Flannery. “There must have been others working here tonight besides this fellow Smith. Remember anybody?”
The girl hesitated. “There—there was one other, sir.”
“Yes? Who was that?”
“A girl who is employed in the office of the Calcutta Importers, on this floor. Her name is Miss Lila Barr.”
“Working here tonight, eh? On this floor. She’s not here now?”
“No, sir. She left some time ago.”
“How long ago?”
“I can’t say exactly, sir. Half an hour—perhaps a little more than that.”
“Humph.” The Captain took down their names and addresses, and dismissed them. As they went out, the two patrolmen entered from the fire-escape, and, leaving them in charge, Flannery asked to be directed upstairs.
The dinner guests were sitting with rather weary patience in a semicircle in the living-room. Into their midst strode the Captain, with an air of confidence he was far from feeling. He stood looking them over.
“I guess you know what I’m doing here,” he said. “Miss Morrow tells me she’s had a talk with you, and I won’t double back over her tracks. However, I want the name and address of every one of you.” He turned to Mrs. Kirk. “I’ll start with you.”
She stiffened at his tone. “You’re very flattering, I’m sure. I am Mrs. Dawson Kirk.” She added her address.
“You.” Flannery turned to the explorer.
“Colonel John Beetham. I am a visitor in the city, stopping at the Fairmont.”
Flannery went on down the list. When he had finished, he added:
“Anyone got any light to throw on this affair? If you have, better give it to me now. Things’ll be a lot pleasanter all round than if I dig it up for myself later.” No one spoke. “Some lady saw a man running down the fire-escape,” he prompted.
“Oh—I did,” said Eileen Enderby. “I’ve been all over that with Miss Morrow. I had gone out into the garden—” Again she related her experience.
“What’d this man look like?” demanded Flannery.
“I couldn’t say. A very dim figure in the fog.”
“All right. You can all go now. I may want to see some of you later.” Flannery strode past them into the garden.
One by one they said their strained farewells and departed—Mrs. Kirk and her companion, Miss Gloria Garland, then the Enderbys, and finally the explorer. Charlie Chan also got his hat and coat, while Miss Morrow watched him inquiringly.
“Until dark deed shaded the feast,” said Chan, “the evening was an unquestioned joy. Mr. Kirk—”
“Oh, but you’re not leaving,” cried Miss Morrow. “Please. I want to have a talk with you.”
“Tomorrow I am seagoing man,” Chan reminded her. “The experience weakens me considerably. I have need of sleep, and relaxing—”
“I’ll keep you only a moment,” she pleaded, and Chan nodded.
Captain Flannery appeared from the garden. “Dark out there,” he announced. “But if I’m not mistaken, anyone could have reached the floor below by way of the fire-escape. Is that right?”
“Undoubtedly,” replied Kirk.
“An important discovery,” approved Chan. “On the gown of one of the lady guests were iron rust stains, which might have been suffered by—But who am I to speak thus to keen man like the Captain? You made note of the fact, of course?”
Flannery reddened. “I—I can’t say I did. Which lady?”
“That Mrs. Enderby, who witnessed fleeing man. Do not mention it, sir. So happy to be of slightest service.”
“Let’s go back downstairs,” growled Flannery. On the floor below, he stood for a long moment, looking about. “Well, I got to get busy here.”
“I will say farewell,” remarked Chan.
“Going, eh?” said Flannery, with marked enthusiasm.
“Going far,” smiled Chan. “Tomorrow I am directed toward Honolulu. I leave you to the largest problem of your life, Captain. I suffer no envy for you.”
“Oh, I’ll pull through,” replied Flannery.
“Only the witless could doubt it. But you will travel a long road. Consider. Who is great man silent now on couch? A famous detective with a glorious record.
