“Oh!” Mitchell scratched his head in some doubt. “Well, see that the bird isn’t taken out of the house, Fernando. Say, didn’t you look after Mr. Meredith?”
“I took care of his clothes and his room, yes, sir,” explained the Filipino. “Always I run errands for him, and I wait at the table under Herman, yes, sir.”
“Do you recognize this key?” As he spoke Inspector Mitchell thrust it almost under Fernando’s nose. “Do you know what it unlocks?”
Fernando turned the key over and over, his expression inscrutable as he fingered the linen tag. “I no see it before,” he stated, handing it back.
“Have you seen one like it?” asked Curtis, breaking his silence.
“Perhaps,” was Fernando’s noncommittal reply.
“Mr. Meredith kept always the keys under his pillow at night; sometimes,” looking first at one man and then the other, “Mr. Meredith forget in the morning and send me for them.”
“Do you identify this positively as like one Mr. Meredith had?” persisted Mitchell.
“Honorable sir,” Fernando dropped back a step to let Mitchell pass, and bowed low to the Inspector, “it look like most any key on Mr. Meredith’s—what you call it—bunch? You see for yourself; you got keys.”
Mitchell took his last words for a statement, but to Curtis’ keen ears they sounded like an interrogation.