“Up the fire escape and through the window.”
“The fire escape?”
“Yes, sir. The room was locked on the inside, the key was in the lock. The window opened on the fire escape and it had been jimmied. The marks of the jimmy showed plainly in the wood, and there were traces of prints on the fire escape, rubber heels.”
Lester Leith tossed away the stub of the cigarette, took out his cigarette case, absently abstracted another cigarette.
“Funny that the murderer could have worked so quickly, and it’s strange that of all the rooms in the hotel the man would have secured one that opened on the fire escape. Of course, that solves the mystery of the trunk. The man took it down the fire escape with him — the murderer, I mean.”
Long before Lester Leith finished, the valet was wagging his head in negation.
“No, sir. In the first place, it was the most natural thing in the world for Cogley to have a room which opened on the fire escape. The murderer had made all the arrangements. In the second place, the missing trunk couldn’t possibly have gone through the window. The window is small, and the trunk, although smaller than the average wardrobe trunk, is, nevertheless, too big to...”
Lester Leith interrupted his valet.
“The murderer made arrangements for the room!”
“Yes, sir. You see, a Mr. Frank Millsap telephoned the hotel and said that he wanted two rooms, that they had to be adjoining and on the fourth floor. He seemed quite familiar with the hotel and suggested Rooms 405 and 407. He said the name of the party who would occupy 407 was Cogley.
“Of course, it’s all clear now. He wanted to get this man, Cogley, in a room which had the fire escape opening from it. But the request didn’t seem unusual then. When Cogley arrived from the boat and registered he was shown at once to the room. The clerk didn’t ask him about the reservation, he was so certain that...”
Suddenly Lester Leith chuckled.
“That would be the police theory,” he said.
“That is the police theory,” said the spy with dignity.
Lester Leith raised an eyebrow.
“Indeed!” he muttered. “You seem remarkably well posted about it.”
“I only read it in the newspaper!” said the spy hastily.
“I see,” murmured Lester Leith, “and who was this Frank Millsap?”
“Probably a fence, a man who deals in stolen jewels on a large scale.”
“And the loot, Scuttle?”
“There were at least five magnificent diamonds. The customs detective was certain of that. And then there were some odds and ends, amounting in all to rather a goodly sum, but the most valuable part of the loot consisted of the diamonds.”
Leith nodded — a meditative, speculative nod.
“Are you interested, sir?” asked the spy anxiously.
Lester Leith sighed. “In spite of myself I’m becoming interested.”
“Ah-h-h-h!” breathed the spy, and his tone contained the satisfaction of a salesman who has just secured the name of the customer on the dotted line.
“Yes,” resumed Lester Leith, “I can almost think of a possible solution, Scuttle. That is, you understand, an academic solution. And I say ‘almost,’ because I am afraid to let my mind complete the thought and actually secure a solution.
“This confounded Sergeant Ackley is so obsessed with the idea that I beat the police to the solution of crimes, simply by reading of them in the newspaper... Bah! If I were a policeman, Scuttle, I’d hang my head in shame if I were ever driven to make such a confession of incompetency.”
The valet followed the conversational lead.
“But you yourself have admitted that it’s sometimes possible for one to reach what you refer to as an ‘academic solution’ through a study of the newspaper reports of crime.”
“Certainly,” agreed Lester Leith. “Many times all the facts necessary to solve a crime are in the hands of the police, and in the hands of the newspaper reporters. They simply don’t fit those facts together. It’s like one of those jigsaw puzzles. There may be all the parts in one’s hands, but fitting each part so it dovetails with the corresponding part to make a complete picture is something else.
“What I was commenting on, Scuttle, was the attitude of the police. I would be ashamed to admit such a degree of incompetency as the sergeant admits when he accuses me of doing what he thinks I have been doing.”
The valet nodded, impatiently.
“Yes, sir. But I’ve always admired your academic solutions immensely. And you can confide in me quite safely. So, if you have any ideas about a solution — er — an academic solution of the present crime, sir, I should like to hear them.”
Lester Leith yawned.
“You’ve given me all the facts, Scuttle?”
“Yes, sir. All the facts the newspapers have published.”
“Let me see the papers.”
“Yes, sir.”
The valet passed over the newspapers. Lester Leith read them through.
His eyes were clouded with thought, his forehead furrowed in concentration.
“So the police have been watching everyone who checked out of the Palace Hotel since the crime, eh?”
“Yes. That is, the police have felt that there might have been an inside accomplice. If that were the case, it would undoubtedly be some transient guest, someone who checked into the hotel merely to help in the commission of the murder. And so they’ve been keeping an eye on those who checked out to see who they are and what they do for a living.”
Leith nodded again. His eyes were narrowed now.
“Very interesting about the woman, Scuttle.”
“What woman, sir?”
“The kleptomaniac. Didn’t you read about her? The one who can’t remain away from department stores and who always tries to pick the pockets of her gentlemen friends?”
The valet moved his massive shoulders in a gesture of impatience.
“That’s just an ordinary case, sir. She can’t be involved in this murder mystery.”
Lester Leith raised disapproving eyes.
“Scuttle! Are you insinuating that you’d like me to solve this murder case and find the missing loot?”
“Just an academic solution,” muttered the spy.
Lester Leith let his lips expand into a grin.
“Well, if I were giving an academic solution — and, mind you, it would be strictly academic — I’d get the kleptomaniac and a bloodhound-canary, and after that there’d be nothing to it.”
The spy blinked twice, as a man blinks who has received a heavy blow on the head.
“A bloodhound-canary!” he said.
Lester Leith nodded.
“In a big cage, Scuttle. And I should say that the cage should be kept covered with canvas or a heavy twill.”
The sigh of the police spy was much like a gasp.
“And the kleptomaniac. What would she have to do with a solution of the case?”
Lester Leith arched his brows in well-simulated surprise.
“But she’s a thief!”
“Well?” demanded the spy.
“There’s an axiom,” proclaimed Lester Leith, “to the effect that it takes a thief to catch a thief. And one can’t disregard axioms, Scuttle. You know that as well as I do — or should.”
The valet shook his head as though he had taken a long dive through very cold waters and was seeking to catch his breath as well as to clear his vision.
“A kleptomaniac and a bloodhound-canary,” he said. “I never heard of any such thing.”
Lester Leith nodded.
“You’ll get accustomed to the idea after a while. It’s really very logical, Scuttle.”
The valet grunted. “But what in heaven’s name is a bloodhound-canary?”
Lester Leith lowered his voice.