“I’ll wait in Thompson’s office.”
“We’ll be right back. Aw, hell!”
“What’s the matter?”
“My torch won’t work — busted it in that little tangle.”
“Here’s mine,” said Farnsworth handing him his flash light.
“Get goin’,” said Darwin to Starr.
The door of the elevator banged shut and the old car started to creak.
Unerringly, Farnsworth made his way back to Thompson’s office and, quite as if he were able to see in the dark, approached the desk and picked up the telephone.
He had to work the hook several times before he obtained a response.
“A call came in here a few minutes ago,” he said. “Where was it from?”
“It was a mistake, excuse it, please,” replied central sweetly.
“Mistake—”
“Excuse it, please.”
There was the click, and Farnsworth hung up the receiver.
He went to the farthest window, raised the shade and looked outside.
The rear of the Tremont Building, which was toward the east, looked out on a court. An alley connected the court with the street.
He raised the other shades one by one until at last, he reached the window nearest the desk. When he had raised that shade and glanced at the night sky, he stepped back and stood by the telephone.
The door being open, squeakings and scurryings could be heard plainly, the rats having once more taken possession of the corridor. The minutes dragged by.
Near the door, there was a slight rustle. Revolver in hand, Farnsworth crept stealthily across the carpet.
The rustling sound ended abruptly and he halted. In the corridor, the squeakings and scurryings ceased an instant, then seemed louder.
The lights flashed, went out, then came on in full brilliance.
Taking Starr’s revolver from his pocket, he noted the number and methodically entered it in his little black book. That done, he examined the weapon with his magnifying glass. Finally, he put it into his coat pocket and went wandering about the office, scanning various objects with his glass, his brow puckered in a deep frown.
He was standing before the desk when Darwin dragged Starr through the door.
“What took you so long?” asked Farnsworth.
“This bozo tried to put up an argument,” replied Darwin. “He didn’t wanta come up here again.”
“Why?” asked Farnsworth, his eyes on Starr.
The superintendent’s thick, bloodless lips worked, but no words issued from them and his red-rimmed, black eyes looked glassy.
“He put the fuse in all right,” said Darwin. “But he didn’t wanta come back with me. Hadda work on him a little.”
“What are you afraid of, Starr?” asked Farnsworth.
The superintendent stared at him as if his words were unintelligible.
“Let go of him, Darwin.”
Darwin obeyed, but moved so that he blocked the door. Starr looked relieved.
“What are you afraid of?” repeated Farnsworth.
Starr moistened his lips with his tongue.
“Down there, I heard a dog howlin’. That means death!”
“Death has occurred already, so it means nothing.”
“One death. And she’s got yeller hair. Oh, my God, she’s got—”
Starr’s voice had risen to a shriek and Darwin thrust his hand over his mouth.
“Sit down, Starr,” said Farnsworth, pushing forward a chair.
His whole body trembling, Starr seated himself.
Farnsworth waited until he had calmed somewhat.
“That’s better, old man,” he remarked soothingly. “You haven’t anything to fear. You’re in the presence of death, that’s true, but there is nothing to fear in death. That little girl over there” — he nodded toward the desk — “couldn’t have hurt a strong man like you when she was alive. Dead, she is even more powerless. We’re officers of the law and we’re armed. You’re safe.”
“Safe,” mumbled Starr.
“Yes, safe. Then there’s another thing you’ve forgotten. You’re the night superintendent of the Tremont Building. Mr. Thompson owns the Tremont, and because you’re the night superintendent, you’re Mr. Thompson’s representative. Isn’t that correct?”
“Mr. Thompson’s my boss,” answered Starr, a note of assurance in his voice.
“That being true, you have a duty to perform. It’s just as much of a duty as seeing that the night women do their work, that no one without a right gets into this building, and running the elevator.”
“I mop up the lobby, too.”
“But you have still another duty.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s a dead woman in Mr. Thom—”
“Oh, my God, don’t I know that?”
“Somebody killed her. You must help us find the murderer.”
Beads of perspiration stood out brightly on Starr’s low, slanting forehead.
“You must help us,” insisted Farnsworth.
“How can I help?” asked Starr in a barely audible voice.
“Who is the night woman on this floor?”
“There ain’t no night woman on the sixth.”
“But the night woman cleaned this table top.”
“The night woman from the fifth’s supposed to keep the sixth floor clean.”
“Who is the woman on the fifth floor?”
“I just can’t think of her name,” Starr replied slowly, his forehead wrinkling. “She’s only been here about a week. I’ll have to git my book. The names of all of ’em is in my book. They’re in my book with the floors they work on.”
Through the wide-open window, the light night wind again carried a long drawn, mournful cry.
“There it is!” exclaimed Starr, jumping to his feet, his face greenish.
“It’s only a dog,” assured Farnsworth. “A lonesome dog.”
“Let’s go downstairs in the lobby. Please let’s go downstairs in the lobby,” begged Starr huskily. “I could hear it there, too, mebbe, but I’d feel easier downstairs in the lobby.”
Shivering violently, he turned so that he could not see the desk.
“Do you know that girl?” asked Farnsworth, stepping closer.
“I don’t know her!”
“She was young — not more than twenty-one or twenty-two years old. She was five feet tall. She didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. Her dress, shoes, and other clothing are expensive. She was accustomed to luxury. Her nails were manicured only a short time before her death. Her complexion’s fair — extremely blond — and her eyes are blue — a deep blue.”
Starr did not seem to be listening and Farnsworth paused.
“She was shot squarely between the eyes. Do you know what that means, Starr?”
“No,” whispered the superintendent, his lips again dry.
“It means she was facing the person who shot her. It means she knew the one who killed her!”
Farnsworth’s eyes were fixed on Starr’s greenish face.
“I don’t know her,” said Starr in a trance-like voice.
“You haven’t seen her distinctly.”
“I seen her plain enough.”
“Come over here and look at her again.”
Starr moved toward the desk, but did not raise his eyes.
“Look at her,” ordered Farnsworth quietly.
Starr stepped forward slowly, did not stop until he was within a couple of feet of the body. His eyes rested an instant on the face of the corpse.
Then he leaped to the open window and sprang to the sill. Below him was a clear drop of six stories. Simultaneously, Farnsworth and Darwin bounded forward. Just as Starr leaped they caught him. There was the sound of tearing cloth.
For an instant, it seemed that Starr must surely plunge to his death.
But the cloth held and Farnsworth and Darwin got the man back into the office.
As if he were rubber, he bounced to his feet.