The telephone rang. Professor Biscayne was on the wire. Cardona spoke.
“Tomorrow night,” he said. “Yes, professor, that will be a crucial time… Another death may be coming… Well, we can prevent it if we catch any one around the Redan Hotel.
“My men are on watch up there… Covering the mail chutes on all floors… Yes, he may drop it somewhere else, if he sends it at all.
“Very good, professor. Thanks. I’ll call you if anything develops.”
Cardona hung up the receiver and resumed his work with paper and pencil. He was studying facts; yet he was not obtaining results.
A long shadow crept across the room and fell upon the desk where Cardona was working.
The detective looked up suddenly; then he smiled indulgently as he saw Fritz, the tall, stoop shouldered janitor. The man had entered the room, armed with bucket and mop.
Fritz made no remark as he gazed dully at the detective. The man was both slow-thinking and taciturn.
“Hello, Fritz,” said the detective. “Thought you’d be gone long ago. You work all hours, don’t you?”
“Yah,” replied the janitor.