Ken came slowly into the room and sat down.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“It’s about last night. A young woman was murdered in the apartment above mine. I have some information that would be of interest to the police.” Sweeting paused to smile knowingly.
“I’m not anxious to become a police informer, Mr. Holland. I realize it is my duty to tell them what I know, but they seldom show any appreciation. After all, one has to consider one’s own interests first, I always think.”
So it was to be blackmail. Ken reached for a cigarette and lit it with an unsteady hand.
“I had nothing to do with the murder,” he said steadily.
Sweeting inclined his head.
“I am quite sure of that. If I thought you had I wouldn’t be here. I am a cautious man. I wouldn’t allow myself to become an accessory to murder. No, of course you had nothing to do with the murder, but you were in Miss Carson’s apartment when it happened, weren’t you?”
Ken didn’t say anything.
“I’m sure you’re too sensible to deny it, Mr. Holland,” Sweeting went on after a pause. “I saw you leave. I noted the time.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “You are in an awkward position. You must realize that it is almost impossible for you to convince the police that you didn’t murder the girl. They are always so anxious to make an arrest.”