"Oh!" Sams stared for a moment, then he took up his razor, turned his back and went on with his shaving. But there was expectancy in his attitude; and Ashton-Kirk smiled confidently.
"While you were drawn up in Christie Place, waiting for a fare," he asked, "did you hear or see anything at 478?"
"I saw a light on the second floor—something I never saw before at that hour. And I saw the Dutchman that keeps the store underneath shutting up. And I heard somebody laughing upstairs," as a second thought. "I think that's what made me notice the light."
"Nothing else?"
Sams shaved and considered. He wiped his razor at last, poured some water in a bowl and doused his face. Then he took up a towel and began applying it briskly.
The investigator, watching him closely, saw that he was not trying to recall anything. It was plain that the man was merely calculating the possibilities of harm to himself and patrons if he told what he knew.
"There has been a murder," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly, thinking to jog him along.
Sams threw the towel from him and sat down upon the bed.
"A murder!" said he, his eyes and mouth wide open. "Well, what do you know about that." He sat looking from one to the other of them, dazedly, for a space; then he resumed: "Say, I thought there was something queer about that stunt of hers!"
"Tell us about it," suggested Ashton-Kirk, crossing his legs and clasping one knee with his hands.