“No. That’s why he went in. He thought something might be wrong.”
“Had anybody else been in the room or past it within a few minutes?”
“Absolutely no one. The floor girl’s desk is just outside. She must have seen anyone going in.”
“Has she anything to add?”
“She heard the shot. And a minute or two before, she had heard and felt a jar from the room.”
“Corroborative of the man having fallen before the shot,” commented Jones.
“When I got here, five minutes later, he was quite dead,” continued the manager.
Evidence of the explosion was slight to the investigating eye of Average Jones. The wall showed an abrasion, but, as the investigator expected, no bullet hole. Against the leg of a desk he found a small metal shell, which he laid on the table.
“There’s your bullet,” he observed with a smile.
“It’s a cartridge, anyway,” cried the hotel man. “He must have been shot, after all.”