“I was at the office when they brought him in, and I sent Snitkin with the ring up to Harlem to see what the maid had to say about it, and she identified it as belonging to Odell.”
“But, I say, it wasn’t a part of the bijouterie the lady was wearing that night, was it, Sergeant?” Vance put the question casually.
Heath jerked about and eyed him with sullen calculation.
“What if it wasn’t? It came out of that jimmied jewel-case—or I’m Ben Hur.”
“Of course it did,” murmured Vance, lapsing into lethargy.
“And that’s where we’re in luck,” declared Heath, turning back to Markham. “It connects Skeel directly with the murder and the robbery.”
“What has Skeel to say about it?” Markham was leaning forward intently. “I suppose you questioned him.”
“I’ll say we did,” replied the Sergeant; but his tone was troubled. “We had him up all night giving him the works. And the story he tells is this: he says the girl gave him the ring a week ago, and that he didn’t see her again until the afternoon of day before yesterday. He came to her apartment between four and five—you remember the maid said she was out then—and entered and left the house by the side door, which was unlocked at that time. He admits he called again at half past nine that night, but he says that when he found she was out, he went straight home and stayed there. His alibi is that he sat up with his landlady till after midnight playing Khun Khan and drinking beer. I hopped up to his place this morning, and the old girl verified it. But that don’t mean anything. The house he lives in is a pretty tough hang-out, and this landlady, besides being a heavy boozer, has been up the river a coupla times for shoplifting.”
“What does Skeel say about the finger-prints?”
“He says, of course, he made ’em when he was there in the afternoon.”