The bathroom gave no hint of help. The little window had been found closed and fastened, and save for the entrance door there was no other break in the walls.
In a word, Hanley expressed his positive assurance that nobody could by any chance enter or leave Kimball Webb’s room, except by the door that opened from the hall.
“The windows are out of the question,” he asserted. “To begin with, they’re third story windows, with a sheer drop to the street.
“Next, they were opened only at the tops for a few inches, and fastened in that position. Nobody could get through one of those narrow apertures.”
This was so evident, there was no use dwelling on it.
“Then,” said Elsie, slowly, “the problem comes down to this; how did Mr. Webb get out through the door, and leave it fastened behind him,—not only locked with a key, but bolted with a strong, firm bolt?”
“That’s the problem,” and the detective looked at her in admiration.
He had never seen a young woman,—a mere girl, who could so succinctly state a case.
“But, granting that,” urged Henrietta Webb, “where is he now? The front street door was fastened with heavy bolts, all of which were intact in the morning. The rear door, the same.”
“Then,” said Elsie, turning on her quickly, “he must be in this house still!”