“Oh, I say! I have no theory. I asked Guilfoyle about the alley merely in case we should learn that no one but Drukker was seen going to the park. In that event we could assume, as a tentative hypothesis, that the murderer had managed to avoid detection by taking the alleyway and crossing to the park in the middle of the block.”
“With that possible route open to the murderer,” Markham observed gloomily, “it wouldn’t matter much who was seen going out with Drukker.”
“That’s just it. The person who staged this farce may have walked boldly into the park under the eyes of an alert myrmidon, or he may have hied stealthily through the alley.”
Markham nodded an unhappy agreement.
“The thing that bothers me most, however,” continued Vance, “is that light in Drukker’s room all night. It was turned on at about the time the poor chap was tumbling into eternity. And Guilfoyle says that he could see some one moving about there after the light went on——”
He broke off, and stood for several seconds in an attitude of concentration.
“I say, Sergeant; I don’t suppose you know whether or not Drukker’s front-door key was in his pocket when he was found.”
“No, sir; but I can find out in no time. The contents of his pockets are being held till after the autopsy.”
Heath stepped to the telephone, and a moment later he was talking to the desk sergeant of the 68th-Street Precinct Station. Several minutes of waiting passed; then he grunted and banged down the receiver.
“Not a key of any kind on him.”