"You're not much on the gab-fest, are you?" said Murphy, amiably. "Two women! One of 'em wore arctics and the other sandals; and the one with the sandals wrecked the place! Bo, was it love-letters—divorce stuff? Good-lookers?"
"There was only one woman," wearily.
"Two. My job is noticing things. When I say that two women went up and down that fire-escape I know what I'm talking about."
Mathison shrugged. It wasn't worth while arguing.
"The woman with the arctics came first, then the woman with the sandals. While the latter was in the room tidying up things the other was hiding behind the fire-escape stairs. Easy on a night like this with the snow high on the steps. All in the tracks as plain as the nose on your face. Arctics came from the room below; sandals got out of the parlor."
Mathison listened politely. "Very interesting; all in the tracks." He had determined not to dissent. The man had a right to his theories; but it happened that John Mathison knew all the facts.
"Bo, this is queer business," said the detective. "What you've lost don't seem to curl your hair any. Love-letters! The fool woman is always writing them and then bawling to heaven to get them back.... For the love o' Mike, what's this? Is this coat yours?"
"Yes."
"You are an officer in the United States navy?"
"I am."