“Yes, one who sells ’em, not the kind that gets the items,” explained the detective, with a smile. “Well, as I said, Parloti came in, and went up to his room, but he never came down again.”
“Never came down again? You don’t mean he’s dead; do you?”
“Not a bit of it. He skipped out. Went down the fire-escape, which is just outside his window. Larry, he’s given us the slip.”
“Then he’s guilty after all!” cried the young reporter. “He’s fooled us completely. He played us for amateur detectives. He stayed here long enough to make it look as if he wasn’t the man we wanted, and then, when he gets a chance, and suspicion is beginning to weaken, he lights out.”
“It looks so,” admitted Nyler.
Larry started to leave the room.
“Where are you going?” asked the detective.
“I’m going to the hotel where Parloti used to stay, and see if I can pick up any clews in his apartment.”
“Good. I’ll go with you!”