The butler stared at Drew with blank expression. He gulped. His eyes dropped. “I’m thinking,” he said, “that the whole blym occurrence his unnatural. I never left that door until they told me the telephone company’s loidy wanted me on the wire. It was then I left it.”
“Ah!” said Drew. “We’re getting there. Then, if you are speaking truth, and I won’t help you if you are not, we have reached a point in the case which will bear considerable thought. It is evident that Stockbridge was murdered by a pistol shot, at or about the time the table and contents were spilled over. In other words, the shot which bowled him over brought down with it the telephone transmitter and receiver. That is the thing which fixes, within minutes—perhaps seconds—the time of the murder. The telephone girl will have a record which will help us considerable. Many criminals have been caught—and convicted by the time element. There is no alibi against truth! A man can’t be in two places at the same time!”
Drew turned toward the door. He hesitated and wheeled.
“You heard nothing fall in this room?” he asked sharply.
“I did not, sir.”
“No shot?”
“I cawn’t say that I did, sir.”
“No telephone bell ringing? Ringing at any time after I left the house?”
“Not downstairs, sir.”
“You did!”