“Well, Mr Barry,” he said, “we’ve got to find another man to fit that olive green hat, it appears. But that doesn’t preclude the possibility of your having been here that day, too. You didn’t hang over the balusters all the afternoon, I suppose, Miss Adams.”
Offended at his mode of expression, the lady drew herself up haughtily, and said, “I did not.”
“But you saw no one come in who might have been Mr Barry?”
“No.”
“Could he have come and you not have known it?”
Miss Adams was about to make a short reply, and then thought better of it.
“I want to help you all I can,” she said, “and I am answering your questions carefully. I suppose any one could have gone into Mr Gleason’s apartment that day without my knowing it, but it is not likely. For I was listening for the arrival of my niece, who, however, did not come. I kept watch, therefore, until about six o’clock, or a little after, then as I gave up all hope of my niece’s coming, I also ceased to watch or listen. Anybody may have come after that. I don’t know, I’m sure.”
Prescott ruminated. Whoever killed Robert Gleason may well have arrived after six o’clock. For the telephone call didn’t reach the doctor until about quarter of seven, and if it were Barry, it must be remembered he didn’t part company with Pollard until six or after.
It would seem then, that Miss Adams’ testimony amounted to little, after all. However, the man with the green hat ought to be found.
“Tell us again of the young man,” Prescott said. “See if you can describe him so we can recognize some one we know.”