“Always,” responded Day. “Or, at least, it should be!”
“Who was in charge here yesterday evening?” queried the Inspector swiftly.
“I was.” Young Forshaw stepped forward.
“Did you lock this door when you left?”
“To the best of my memory—yes. But it’s a mechanical sort of job—you know, Inspector—the kind of thing you do so often from mere force of habit—that the doing it leaves no very clear impression on your mind.”
Goodall nodded in acceptance. He knew exactly what the speaker meant.
“Still,” went on Forshaw, “I’m fairly certain I did it.” He thought it over carefully.
“How many keys are there?” broke in the Inspector.
Day took it upon himself to answer. “Four. Each of the partners has one—and Ronald Forshaw here also. He’s more often in charge here of an evening than anybody—he has to have a key.”
“Now tell me again,” interjected Goodall, “who gave the alarm? The cleaner, you said, didn’t you?”