“I’ve got no idea,” she replied calmly. “It was always kept locked, and I never saw Miss Odell open it.”
The Sergeant walked over to the door of the living-room closet.
“See that key?” he asked angrily.
Again the woman nodded; but this time I detected a look of mild astonishment in her eyes.
“Was that key always kept on the inside of the door?”
“No; it was always on the outside.”
Heath shot Vance a curious look. Then, after a moment’s frowning contemplation of the knob, he waved his hand to the detective who had brought the maid in.
“Take her back to the reception-room, Snitkin, and get a detailed description from her of all the Odell jewellery. . . . And keep her outside; I’ll want her again.”
When Snitkin and the maid had gone out, Vance lay back lazily on the davenport, where he had sat during the interview, and sent a spiral of cigarette smoke toward the ceiling.
“Rather illuminatin’, what?” he remarked. “The dusky demoiselle got us considerably forrader. Now we know that the closet key is on the wrong side of the door, and that our fille de joie went to the theatre with one of her favorite inamorati, who presumably brought her home shortly before she took her departure from this wicked world.”