“What about when you're off duty, Mr. Page?”
“The manager relieves me for two hours at noon, from one to three, but as the dining-room opens out of the hall, and my table is just by the glass door, I'm as good as in the hall. At seven o'clock the hall-porter takes my place till seven-thirty. But, as I say, I've my eyes on the hall all the time, and if there's any crush I'm out in two twos.”
The clerk yawned dismally, and Pointer, with a laugh, let him go, after having him write down the names of any of the occupants of the five balcony rooms which were not known to the management from other visits. There were only two. Numbers eleven and twelve; and of these, number eleven was “expecting to leave” daily.
“Now, who do I see about the service-stairs—who is supposed to keep an eye on them?”
“The housekeeper. She's still up; I'll send her to you.”
The housekeeper assured him that at noon by Saturday the service-door just beyond the manager's suite was duly locked and bolted. After that hour it could only be used with her consent and approval. The lower door in the basement—the delivery door proper—was, of course, another matter. The key of the upper door hung in the maids' sitting-room just opposite,—a small room used especially by the maid who waited on the manager.
“That door leads to the maids' sitting-room and to the service-stairs, doesn't it?”
The Chief Inspector pointed to a door opening out of the manager's little lobby. He opened it as he spoke—not for the first time that night.
The housekeeper looked surprised. “Bless me, sir, it doesn't take you police gentlemen long to find your way about.”
“And that is the door leading into the street, eh?”