“No. I walked down the alleyway and went in the side door—like I generally do. It’s nobody’s business who I call on, and what the telephone operator in the front hall don’t know don’t hurt him.”
“That’s all right so far,” observed Heath. “The janitor didn’t bolt the side door until after six.”
“And did you stay the entire evening, Mr. Mannix?” asked Markham.
“Sure—till just before midnight. Miss Frisbee cooked the dinner, and I’d brought along a bottle of wine. Social little party—just the two of us. And I didn’t go outside the apartment, understand, until five minutes to twelve. You can get the lady down here and ask her. I’ll call her up now and tell her to explain the exact situation about Monday night. I’m not asking you to take my word for it—positively not.”
Markham made a gesture dismissing the suggestion.
“What took place at five minutes to twelve?”
Mannix hesitated, as if loath to come to the point.
“I’m a good fellow, y’ understand. And a friend’s a friend. But—I ask you—is that any reason why I should get in wrong for something I didn’t have absolutely nothing to do with?”
He waited for an answer, but receiving none, continued.
“Sure, I’m right.—Anyway, here’s what happened. As I said, I was calling on the lady. But I had another date for later that night; so a few minutes before midnight I said good-bye and started to go. Just as I opened the door I saw some one sneaking away from the Canary’s apartment down the little back hall to the side door. There was a light in the hall, and the door of Apartment 2 faces that side door. I saw the fellow as plain as I see you—positively as plain.”