Heath grunted.
“Maybe so,” he admitted. “You’re sure it was ten o’clock?”
“I didn’t look at my watch; but I’m here to tell you it wasn’t far off of ten.”
“And what time did the lights go out in Drukker’s room?”
“They didn’t go out. They stayed on all night. He was a queer bird. He didn’t keep regular hours, and twice before his lights were on till nearly morning.”
“That’s quite understandable,” came Vance’s lazy voice. “He has been at work on a difficult problem lately.—But tell us, Guilfoyle: what about the light in Mrs. Drukker’s room?”
“Same as usual. The old dame always keeps a light burning in her room all night.”
“Was there any one on guard in front of the Drukker house last night?” Markham asked Heath.
“Not after six o’clock, sir. We’ve had a man tailing Drukker during the day, but he goes off duty at six when Guilfoyle takes up his post in the rear.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then Vance turned to Guilfoyle.