"I'm sorry," returned Jones. "The only thing to do is to catch the criminal or learn his identity."
"How?" I demanded. Did Jones think he could win out where McKelvie had been unsuccessful? Then I recalled McKelvie's words before he took the case, when he had handed me his list of questions. "Find the answers to those questions and you will have the name of the man who committed the crime." We ought to be able to answer almost all of them by now.
I pulled out my wallet and opened it, drawing forth the sheets that I had placed there less than a week ago (it seemed more like years) and spread them out in front of Jones, explaining their purpose and how I came by them. He read them through, glanced at McKelvie's back (he was seeking inspiration from the falling night), and then he grinned.
"Say," he whispered loudly, "we ought to be able to dope it out, you and I. I'll read you the questions and you give me the answers." He took out his fountain pen, prepared to fill in my replies, and I humored him.
"Question one. Why was the pistol fired at midnight?" Jones asked.
"To implicate Ruth," I returned.
"Did the murderer also light the lamp?" Jones' pen scratched away as he spoke.
"Yes. He lighted it from the safe," I said, explaining how we had ascertained this fact.
"How did he enter and leave the room?"
"He entered by the window and he left by the secret entrance," I replied, remembering McKelvie's assertion.