"Then you're looking out for him?" and the detective looked furtively toward the door, as he reassured himself by fumbling with the revolver in his own hip-pocket.
"Yes, that's my job."
The big sleuth shook his head sadly.
"I'm sorry I had to be rough with him, like that, miss. But you seen as well as I did that he was gumming the game. Why, with some boob detectives that I know, a feller like that might queer the crowd of you—making it look as though you was implicated." He looked into the ubiquitous notebook. "One question more. How do you account for the blood on the knob of the door—from the inside, too?"
The girl was honestly surprised this time.
"Blood on my door? Why—I——?
"I can explain that, Inspector."
"Go ahead, then, Doctor."
"Do you mind?" and the Kentuckian turned politely toward the girl. She shook her head, wondering what could be in his mind.
"You see, that colored man—the one you were talking about—brought the bundle there. He tied it up and, cutting the string carelessly, broke the blade of the knife and cut his hand. That was it, wasn't it? You see the long blade snapped off near the handle."