“My word!” murmured Vance. “A gigolo!”

Markham, with the incubus of the night clubs riding him heavily, frowned and took a deep breath. Vance’s observation evidently had launched him on an unpleasant train of thought.

“Was this man short or tall?” he asked next.

“He wasn’t so tall—about my height,” Spively explained. “And he was sort of thin.”

There was an easily recognizable undercurrent of admiration in his tone, and I felt that this youthful telephone operator had seen in Miss Odell’s caller a certain physical and sartorial ideal. This palpable admiration, coupled with the somewhat outré[34] clothes affected by the youth, permitted us to read between the lines of his remarks a fairly accurate description of the man who had unsuccessfully rung the dead girl’s bell at half past nine the night before.

When Spively had been dismissed, Markham rose and strode about the room, his head enveloped in a cloud of cigar smoke, while Heath sat stolidly watching him, his brows knit.

Vance stood up and stretched himself.

“The absorbin’ problem, it would seem, remains in statu quo[35],” he remarked airily. “How, oh how, did the fair Margaret’s executioner get in?”

“You know, Mr. Markham,” rumbled Heath sententiously, “I’ve been thinking that the fellow may have come here earlier in the afternoon—say, before that side door was locked. Odell herself may have let him in and hidden him when the other man came to take her to dinner.”

“It looks that way,” Markham admitted. “Bring the maid in here again, and we’ll see what we can find out.”

When the woman had been brought in, Markham questioned her as to her actions during the afternoon, and learned that she had gone out at about four to do some shopping, and had returned about half past five.

“Did Miss Odell have any visitor with her when you got back?”

“No, sir,” was the prompt answer. “She was alone.”

“Did she mention that any one had called?”

“No, sir.”

“Now,” continued Markham, “could any one have been hidden in this apartment when you went home at seven?”

The maid was frankly astonished, and even a little horrified.

“Where could any one hide?” she asked, looking round the apartment.

“There are several possible places,” Markham suggested: “in the bathroom, in one of the clothes-closets, under the bed, behind the window draperies. …”

The woman shook her head decisively. “No one could have been hidden,” she declared. “I was in the bathroom half a dozen times, and I got Miss Odell’s gown out of the clothes-closet in the bedroom. As soon as it began to get dark I drew all the window-shades myself. And as for the bed, it’s built almost down to the floor; no one could squeeze under it.” (I glanced closely at the bed, and realized that this statement was quite true.)

“What about the clothes-closet in this room?” Markham put the question hopefully, but again the maid shook her head.

“Nobody was in there. That’s where I keep my own hat and coat, and I took them out myself when I was getting ready to go. I even put away one of Miss Odell’s old dresses in that closet before I left.”

“And you are absolutely certain,” reiterated Markham, “that no one could have been hidden anywhere in these rooms at the time you went home?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Do you happen to remember if the key of this clothes-closet was on the inside or the outside of the lock when you opened the door to get your hat?”

The woman paused, and looked thoughtfully at the closet door.

“It was on the outside, where it always was,” she announced, after several moments’ reflection. “I remember because it caught in the chiffon of the old dress I put away.”