“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Stop saying you suppose so. You know it did! You’ve lived in this house two years; you know how those doors work—you know your closing that door locked it? Didn’t it?”
“Yes, it did. I turned the knob afterward to make sure. I always do that.”
Ferdinand now seemed to be as discursive as he was reticent before. “And I know Miss Eunice’s—Mrs. Embury’s door was locked, because she had to unbolt it before I could get in this morning.”
“But look here,” Driscoll broke in, “are these doors on that snap-bolt all day? Isn’t that rather an inconvenience?”
“Not all day,” vouchsafed Ferdinand. “They can be turned so the bolt doesn’t catch, and are turned that way in the daytime, usually.”
“But,” and Driscoll looked at him intently, “you can swear that the bolts were on last night?”
“Yes, sir—”
“You can’t!” Hendricks shot at him. The lawyer had been listening in silence, but he now refuted Ferdinand. “You don’t know that Mrs. Embury put on the catch of her door when she closed it.”
“I do, sir; I heard it click.”