Ellery played with his pince-nez. “Bloom, if I told you to swear that nobody could get into that freight room, past the entrance, without your seeing him, would you do it?”
Bloom smiled in a sickly fashion. “Well sir,” he said, “I don’t know as I would.”
“Did you see anybody get in last night while the door was open and you and Salvatore were in the booth checking over the goods?”
“No, sir!”
“But somebody might have got in?”
“I... I guess so...”
“One question more,” said Ellery genially. “These deliveries are made every night, without fail, and at exactly the same hour?”
“Yes, sir. Been that way as long as I can remember.”
“Another, if you’ll pardon me. Did you lock that freight door last night promptly at eleven-thirty?”
“To the dot.”
“Were you at that door all night?”
“Yes, sir. On my chair, right by the door.”
“No disturbance? Didn’t hear or see anything suspicious?”
“No, sir.”
“If — any one — tried — to — get — out — of — the — building — by — that — door,” said Ellery with startling emphasis, “you would have heard and seen him?”
“Sure thing, sir,” said Bloom weakly, glancing with despair at MacKenzie.
“Very well, then,” drawled Ellery, waving his arm negligently toward Bloom, “the inquisition may proceed, Inspector.” And he stepped back, making furious notes in his book.
The Inspector, who had been listening with a gradually clarifying expression on his face, sighed and said to O’Flaherty, “You were saying that Mrs. French came into the building at eleven-forty-five, O’Flaherty. Let’s have the rest of it.”
The head nightwatchman wiped his brow with a slightly shaking hand and a dubious glance in Ellery’s direction. Then he took up the thread of his story. “Well, I sits at th’ night-desk all night — never gets up, while Ralska and Powers here does the rounds every hour. That’s me job, sor — an’ besides I check out all those who put in overtime, like th’ executive people, and such. Yes, sor. I—”
“Easy, O’Flaherty,” said the Inspector, with interest. “Tell us just exactly what happened when Mrs. French arrived. You’re sure it was eleven-forty-five?”
“Yes, sor. I looked at th’ time-clock next th’ desk, ’cause I gotta put down all arrivals on me time-sheet...”
“Oh, the time-sheet?” muttered Queen. “Mr. MacKenzie, will you please see that I get last night’s time-sheet at once? Even before the report on the employees.” MacKenzie nodded and left. “All right, O’Flaherty. Go on.”
“Well, sor, through the night-door acrost th’ hall I sees a taxi roll up and Mrs. French she steps out. She pays th’ driver and knocks. I sees who ’tis and opens quick. She gives me a cheery good-evenin’, and asks if Mr. Cyrus French was still in th’ buildin’. I says no, ma’am, Mr. Cyrus French’d left just as I came on duty this afternoon, as he had, sor, carryin’ a brief-case. She thanks me, stops to think a bit, then she says she’ll go up to Mr. French’s private apartment anyway, and starts to walk out o’ th’ office toward the private elevator that’s only used to go up to th’ apartment. I says to her, I says, Kin I get one o’ the boys to run th’ elevator up for her an’ open th’ apartment door? She says no thanks, right polite, sor, and rummages in her bag for a minute, as if to see she’s got her key. Yes, she had it — she fishes it out o’ her bag and shows it to me. Then she—”
“Just a moment, O’Flaherty.” The Inspector seemed perturbed: “You say she had a key to the apartment? How is that, do you know?”
“Well, sor, there’re only a certain number o’ keys to Mr. French’s apartment, sor,” answered O’Flaherty, more comfortably. “S’far as I know, Mr. Cyrus French has one, Mrs. French had one, Miss Marion has one, Miss Bernice has one — me workin’ here for seventeen years, I knows th’ fam’ly right well, sor — Mr. Weaver has one, and there’s one master-key in th’ desk in my office all th’ time. That’s half a dozen altogether, sor. Th’ master-key is in case a key is needed in an emergency.”
“You say Mrs. French showed you her key before she left your office, O’Flaherty? How do you know it was the key to the apartment?” asked the Inspector.
“Easy enough, sor. Y’see, each key — they’re special Yales, sor — each key has a little gold dingus on it with th’ initials o’ the person it belongs to. Th’ key Mrs. French showed me had that on. Besides, I know th’ looks o’ that key: it was the right one, all right.”
“One second, O’Flaherty.” The Inspector turned to Weaver. “Have you your apartment-key on you, Weaver? Let me have it, please?”
Weaver extracted a leather key-case from his vest-pocket and handed it to Queen. Among a number of different keys was one with a small gold disk fused into the tiny hole at the top. On this disc were engraved the initials, W. W. The Inspector looked up at O’Flaherty.
“A key like this?”
“Just th’ same, sor,” said O’Flaherty, “exceptin’ th’ initials.”
“Very well.” Queen returned the key-case to Weaver. “Now, O’Flaherty, before you continue, tell me this — where do you keep your master-key to the apartment?”
“Right in a special drawer in th’ desk, sor. It’s there all the time, day and night.”
“Was it in its place last night?”
“Yes, sor. I always looks for it special. It was there — the right key, no mistake, sor. It’s got a tab on it too, with th’ word ‘Master’ on it.”
“O’Flaherty,” asked the Inspector quietly, “were you at your desk all night? Did you leave your office at all?”
“No, sor!” answered the old watchman emphatically. “From th’ minute I got there, at five-thirty, I didn’t leave th’ office until I was relieved this mornin’ by O’Shane at eight-thirty. I got longer hours than him ’cause he’s got more to do on his shift, with checkin’ in employees and all. And as for leavin’ the desk, I brings me own feed from homes, even hot coffee in a thermos bottle. No, sor, I was on th’ watch all night.”
“I see.” Queen shook his head as if to clear the mists of weariness and motioned the watchman to continue with his story.
“Well, sor,” said O’Flaherty, “when Mrs. French left me office, I got up out o’ me chair, went into the hall, and watched her. She went to th’ elevator, opened th’ door an’ went in. That’s the last I saw o’ her, sor. When I saw she didn’t come down I though nothin’ of it, ’cause a number o’ times Mrs. French has stayed overnight in Mr. French’s apartment upstairs. I thought she’d done th’ same this night. So that’s all I know, sor.”
Ellery stirred. He lifted the dead woman’s handbag from the bed and dangled it before the watchman’s eyes.
“O’Flaherty,” he asked in a drawling voice, “have you ever seen this before?”
The watchman replied, “Yes, sor! That’s th’ bag Mrs. French was carryin’ last night.”
“The bag, then,” pursued Ellery softly, “from which she took her gold-topped key?”
The watchman seemed puzzled. “Why, yes, sor.” Ellery seemed satisfied and dropped back to whisper in his father’s ear. The Inspector frowned, then nodded. He turned to Crouther.
“Crouther, will you please get the master-key in the office on the 39th Street side.” Crouther grunted cheerfully and departed. “Now then.” The Inspector picked up the gauzy scarf initialed M. F. which he had found on the dead body. “O’Flaherty, do you recall Mrs. French’s having worn this last night? Think carefully.”
O’Flaherty took the wisp of silk in his horny fat fingers and turned it over and over, his forehead wrinkled. “Well, sor,” he said finally, in a hesitant tone, “I can’t rightly say. Seemed to me for a minute as if I’d seen Mrs. French wear it, and then again seemed as if I hadn’t. No, I couldn’t rightly say. No, sor,” and he returned it to the Inspector with a gesture of helplessness.