“Did you hear anything?”
“I’m a heavy sleeper,” Sweeting said. He realized that this big, hard-faced man wasn’t dangerous. He hadn’t been recognized. Sweeting had seen Adams arrive, and he had feared Adams would visit him. He knew the Lieutenant would have recognized him. “I’m sorry I can’t be of assistance to you. I didn’t even know the young woman. I’ve seen her once or twice, of course. We pass on the stairs. Murdered, you say? How dreadful!”
Donovan glared at him.
“You saw nobody and you heard nothing?”
“That’s right. If there’s nothing else, perhaps you will excuse me? You got me out of bed.” Sweeting began to close the door very slowly, smiling at Donovan.
Donovan couldn’t think of anything else to ask him. He realized he had lost the initiative, as he so often did, but there was nothing he could do about it. He nodded curtly and stepped back.
With a bland little smile, Sweeting closed the door and Donovan heard the key turn.
He pushed his hat to the back of his head, rubbed his jaw and crossed the landing to the head of the stairs.
Where had he seen that fat punk before? he asked himself. Had he a record or had he seen him on the street some time? He was sure Adams would know. Adams never forgot a face. With an angry shrug he went on down the stairs to the next-floor apartment.
Half an hour later he arrived in the hall; half an hour wasted. No one knew anything.