“Donald, listen to me. She was dead.”
“How do you know?”
“I went down to 309. The door wasn’t locked. It was closed, but not locked. I knocked on it two or three times, and no one answered. I tried the knob, and the door was unlocked. I opened it, and saw — well, a girl was lying on the bed. I thought — well, you know — I said, ‘Excuse me,’ and went out. I pulled the door shut. I thought I’d better wait for a while, and then come back — you know.”
“Go ahead,”
“Well, I went back downstairs and out of the building. In about half an hour, I went back and rang the bell again.”
“You mean the bell of Evaline Harris’s apartment?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I rang and rang and didn’t get any answer, but I was sure she hadn’t gone out because I’d been watching the door of the apartment house.
“While I was standing there ringing the bell, a woman came up the stairs and fitted a latch key to the door. She smiled at me, and said, `May I help you?’ and I said, ‘Yes, thanks,’ and walked in right behind her.”