“Sure,” agreed the inspector. “How do you suppose he got into your room from the balcony and out of it into the hotel?” he went on casually.
“I left my French doors open for fresh air. And my room door has a snap lock that opens from the inside. When I came back to my room my door was closed and the shades drawn.”
“Just like I told you, Inspector,” Denton put in aggressively. “Shayne is plenty slick. He’s always got an answer ready even if it isn’t always a good one.”
The inspector nodded slowly. He made a slow survey of the room. His men had finished their work and two men from the coroner’s office were waiting to take the body out. He asked, “Did you find the death weapon?”
“Not a sign of anything like that,” one of the men told him. “We’ve covered everything inside and out.”
The inspector said, “Remove the body,” and walked over to Madame Legrand. “And you, Madame,” he asked, “live in the adjoining apartment?”
“I do,” she answered stiffly. She stood up. “If that’s all, Monsieur, may I go now? I shall go to my bed but not to sleep. Not again tonight.” She shuddered and looked at the bloodstained carpet from which the girl’s body had been lifted.
“Just a few more questions,” said the inspector in a gentle voice. “I’d like to hear everything you can tell me about the murder.”
“I’ve already got her story,” Denton blustered. “It don’t amount to much. She cooked dinner for the Macon girl and two others, heard the girls leave about ten, and later woke up and saw Shayne jumping across from here to his hotel. Isn’t that right, lady?”
“The first part, yes. But I do not know whether it was this man I saw.” She studied Shayne, shook her head, and said, “I think it was not,” with conviction.