Shayne went into the kitchenette to replenish his glass of ice water. When he returned, he said, “I think it’s our turn to have a little dope from you, Will. When was Carrol murdered?”
The chief removed the soggy cigar from his mouth and aimed it at the wastebasket “There was a telephone call about two twenty-five. A man called. Didn’t give his name. He was excited, and all he said was that there was a dead man in room two-sixteen at this hotel, and then he hung up. A patrol car got the flash and got here a few minutes later.
“They wasted a few minutes trying to get a key, as I told you, then they broke in. The lights were out and everything in the room was in perfect order. Carrol’s body was naked, and he evidently died without a struggle. He had been stabbed with a sharp silver paper knife.” Gentry paused, his agate eyes regarded Nora solemnly. “Did your husband own a silver paper knife, Mrs. Carrol?”
“Why, y-yes.” Her composure wilted at the question, and she began to sob again. “I d-don’t know whether he brought it with him. He m-may have. He always opened his letters with it.” She stiffened abruptly and demanded, “How do you know it’s Ralph who’s dead? There must be some mistake, some kind of mix-up like the one that brought me to this apartment instead of his.”
“The body was identified as Carrol’s by the elevator operator and the bellboy,” Gentry told her in a kindly tone. “I’ll want you to make a positive identification, of course.” He rose heavily when a knock sounded on the door. “That’ll be the key of two-sixteen.”
He went to the door, followed by Shayne, opened it, and took the key from the young patrolman who stood there. Shayne watched with keen interest as Chief Gentry tried it in the lock. The key slid in about halfway and refused to go farther. “You want to try it?” he asked Shayne.
Shayne removed the key and examined it carefully. It was old and tarnished, and plainly stamped with the numerals 216. He tried it in the lock, and as before it stuck halfway and would go no farther. Shaking his red head, he admitted sourly, “No soap,” and handed the key to the waiting patrolman.
Gentry dismissed the young officer. “All right, Hagen. Take it back, and tell Sergeant Hale to stay there until I come up.”
He closed the door. “That knocks the accidental theory in the head, Mike,” he said. “If we can believe Mrs. Carrol, she was deliberately sent to this hotel, and to your apartment tonight, with a key that opened your door, at just about the same time her husband was being stabbed to death on the next floor. What I want to know now is why.” He sat down heavily and plucked a fresh cigar from his pocket.
“That is the question I want answered,” said Shayne grimly. “And I think we’d better ask the guy who sent her here. Who is he?” he demanded abruptly of Nora Carrol.