Carefully, Sidney Zoom stepped across the body of the man, to peer out of the window. He could see the fire escape running up the side of the building, like some dark serpent.
He stepped into the closet and looked over the clothes which hung from the hangers; looked also at the pile of soiled clothes in the comer. Then he returned to the room and stood, as nearly as he could determine, in the position which the man must have occupied when the shot was fired.
Looking at the angle which the bullet must have traversed, he realized that it would have been impossible for a man to have stood upon the fire escape and fired the shot which had plowed in the dead man’s heart. He stood by the body and looked down at the gun which lay on the floor. Then he peered out of the window once more.
Finally, he crossed the apartment, switched out the lights, opened the corridor door, walked to the comer of the corridor, around the turn, down four doors, and knocked gently on the door of an apartment.
There was no answer.
He knocked again, and when there was still no answer, took some passkeys from his pocket and inserted them carefully in the lock, trying them one at a time. The fourth key clicked back the lock. Sidney Zoom opened the door and stepped into the apartment.
It was furnished, but apparently untenanted. He switched on the lights, looked the place over and saw that it had not been lived in for some time. The swinging wall bed had a cobweb hanging in such a position that had the bed been pulled out, the cobweb would have been broken. The kitchenette held a musty smell of stale odors which combined into a rancid assault upon the nostrils.
Zoom walked toward the window of the apartment, knelt down in front of it, and saw that he had a good view of the apartment which had been occupied by Ruby Allison. A chair was drawn up in front of the window, and Sidney Zoom dropped into the chair. As he did so, he let his eyes drift about the floor near the chair, and noticed several little piles of white ash. A wastebasket yielded the stubs of four cigarettes. The cigarettes were all of the same brand — Marlboroughs with cork rips.
Abruptly, Sidney Zoom straightened, set his jaw in a line of grim determination and strode purposefully toward the door. He pulled it open, clicked the lights out and let the spring latch snap into place as the door closed. He paused in the hallway long enough to consult the address book in which he had jotted down the place where Paul Stapleton resided. Then he left the apartment, got in his roadster, and drove through the deserted streets.
He found the house that he wanted, brought his car to a stop, muttered a command to the dog to stay in the car, and walked up the narrow strip of cement which led from the sidewalk to the porch, his feet awakening muffled echoes.
His long, gaunt forefinger pushed steadily against the bell by the side of the front door, holding it with steady insistence.
From the interior of the house came the sound of the jangling bell; after a while, the noise of voices and the sound of feet coming down a flight of stairs.
Sidney Zoom ceased ringing the bell and stepped slightly to one side.
A bolt clicked back. The door came open a mere two inches, where it was held in position by a brass guard chain. A man’s voice said, “Who is it, and what do you want?”
“The name is Zoom. And I want to see Mr. Stapleton upon a matter of importance.”
“Mr. Stapleton has retired,” said the voice.
“Get him up then,” said Zoom. “I want to see him. It’s important.”
“It will have to wait until morning.”
“It won’t wait until morning. I want to see him now.”
A man’s voice from the back of the corridor said irritably, “What is it, James?”
“A man who wants to see you, sir.”
There was the rustle of motion, then a form in pajamas pushed itself up against the narrow crack in the door.
“What do you want?” said the man.
“I want,” said Sidney Zoom, “to see you at once.”
“What about?”
“About a murder,” said Sidney Zoom, his cold, hawk-like eyes piercing the darkness.
“Can you be more explicit?” asked Stapleton. There was a slight catch in his voice.
“Certainly,” Sidney Zoom told him, “but not here, and not now.”
Fingers fumbled with the chain on the door, and then the door opened.
“Come in,” said the man in pajamas.
Sidney Zoom stepped into the corridor, conscious of the startled, perplexed eyes of a servant. He followed the slippered feet of the man in white pajamas, crossed the corridor, entered a room and went through the room into an adjoining room. Light switches clicked, and Sidney Zoom found himself in a library, with the walls panelled with books, huge chairs grouped invitingly near reading lamps that cast mellow rays in a glowing circle. He looked into the face of a man of about fifty years of age; a man whose eyes were wide and brown, whose shoulders were held squarely back, whose chin was thrust forward, and whose lips twitched with the ghost of a smile.
“You wanted to see me,” he asked, “about a murder?”
Sidney Zoom stared steadily at him.
“Do you,” he asked, “know a gentleman by the name of Frank Venard?”
“No,” said Stapleton.
“You mean to say you don’t know him?”
Stapleton’s scowl was cold and mocking.
“I know him,” he said. “He’s not a gentleman; he’s a private detective who has been guilty of subornation of perjury and of planting evidence.”
“Very well,” said Sidney Zoom. “He’s dead.”
“Do you expect me to express regrets?” asked Stapleton.
“I was simply making the statement to you.”
“How did he die?” asked Stapleton.
“He was murdered.”
“Indeed,” said Stapleton. “I had rather expected that one of these days his activities would bring him to an untimely end. However, that is neither here nor there. The man is dead, and we will let it go at that. What was it you wanted to see me about?”
“The thing that I wanted to discuss with you,” said Sidney Zoom, “was the identity of the murderer.”
“I’m sure I couldn’t help you,” said Stapleton.
“I think perhaps you could.”
“In what way, Mr. Zoom?”
“You have a young woman working for you named Ruby Allison?”
“Yes, a very gifted secretary.”
“She has an apartment in the Richmore Apartments?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you where she lives, without looking up the card index that I have in my office. I have an index which gives the addresses of my employees.”
“Well,” said Sidney Zoom, “she lives in the Richmore Apartments. Frank Venard was killed in her apartment some time this evening. He was killed by a .38 caliber Colt revolver.”
Stapleton raised his eyebrows.
“In her apartment?” he said. “Impossible!”
“Nevertheless, that Is a fact.”
“And does she know who killed him?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Sidney Zoom pointed a long, level forefinger.
“You!” he said, and the word cracked like a whiplash.
Stapleton stood for a moment staring at Sidney Zoom, then he smiled, and the smile became a chuckle.
“Zoom,” he said, “I like your dramatic and forceful manner. Doubtless you’re a detective of some sort. I don’t know what your game is. If I am to believe what you tell me, Frank Venard is dead. I will not profess any friendship for the man. He was a man that I detested. He was a private detective who attempted to discredit me by using perjured evidence. However, that is neither here nor there. It is this accusation of murder which causes me some amusement, and perhaps a little concern. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you’re going to walk out of this house and if you so much as intimate that I have been guilty of murder or have been concerned in any way with the death of Frank Venard, I will see that you are arrested and charged with criminal slander. Do you understand that?”