The Professor didn’t reply at once. He picked up the photograph, studied it a moment, and then, with a slow, searching look around the small room, said:
‘Better try to piece those bits of letter together. This isn’t suicide; it’s murder.’
‘I believe you’re right,’ exclaimed Kelley, with dawning comprehension.
[What brought Fordney to this conclusion?]
34
Midnight Murder
‘Who are you, and what’s this all about?’ demanded Inspector Kelley, as he and Professor Fordney arrived at the apartment in answer to a call.
‘I’m Jack Day. I share this apartment with Al Quale. I returned from the theater, shortly after midnight, went into his room, and found him lying there on the bed. When I saw he was dead, I called Headquarters at once. God, this is terrible!’
‘Those your things on the bed?’ asked Kelley, indicating a blood-stained muffler, a hat, gloves, and cane.
‘Yes, I tossed them there before I rushed to the telephone. Got that blood on the muffler when I bent over him.’
‘What time did you leave here this evening?’