“Tell me all about it,” said Cardona.
“Father and I lived alone, here,” said Richard, in a tired, choked voice. “It was his custom to go out every day, and to return after dinner. I suppose he did that yesterday.
“When I came in at midnight, I saw nothing amiss. I supposed that my father had retired.
“This morning I arose late. There was no sign of father. I supposed that he had gone out. I looked in his room. The bed was untouched. He had not slept there last night.
“I phoned a few places where I thought he might have stayed. He had not been seen.
“I called the police. A man came over here. We decided to search the house. We found no signs of anything being wrong.
“Somehow, we overlooked the closet under the stairs. At last we happened to open it. There we found my father’s body.”
Richard led the way downstairs, and the investigators examined the closet. The door was tight fitting. It had no knob; simply a latch on the outside. The door was closed.
Cardona opened it, and turned his flashlight into the interior. The closet was long, but the ceiling slanted downward, to a small shelf at the end.
While the detective was standing in the opening, something bumped against him. It was the door, closing of its own accord. Cardona stepped back.