The detective made another survey of the room; then drew some diagrams, and made penciled notations. He went out into the hallway, and stood by the wrecked door. He looked back down the stairs.
“Suppose,” he said softly, “that I am an unknown person in this job. I can come in the front door unnoticed. Up to here; then unlock the door — any skeleton key would do, and the regular key was in Jarnow’s pocket — then sneak into the room.”
He edged through the doorway, and a smile of satisfaction came upon his face as he noticed the position of the table in front of him. Again he raised his hand, and pointed his forefinger downward.
“From here,” he said, half aloud, “it’s a perfect shot! Then—” he stepped toward the table, and snapped the button on the hanging lamp — “out goes the light; and out I go — through the window, which remains unlocked.”
Griffith sat at the table, and laughed.
“The gun?” he said, as though asking himself the question. “Wipe the handle; then plant it right in Windsor’s hand.
“That slip of paper? Either Windsor or Jarnow had it. Our man snatched it, and a piece tore off. No time to hunt for it.”
The detective again reviewed his progress of crime reconstruction, and he seemed more satisfied than before. He went to the window, and peered below.
There might be evidence there, he thought, but at the moment, he had a more important idea.
Picking up the envelope, Griffith took another look at the twenty-dollar bills. The presence of what might be counterfeit currency added a new angle of interest.