“Then you did lock Miss Mount’s door?” snapped Bernard.
“I’m afraid not, sir! If you had given me any idea that such a duty was expected of me I should most certainly have seen to it! Perhaps if I did so now—?” He started to rise.
Hunched down in his chair, Bernard stared up at the old fellow from beneath penthouse brows for a moment, then shook his head slowly.
“If you didn’t lock it before dinner, it’s too late now. There’s nothing to be done,” he explained in a quieter tone.
“Never mind,” said Landis. “We’ll get around that all right. Now you’d better go back to your bed and your book. We’re sorry that we disturbed you. Good night, Mr. Harrison!”
With an air of intense but slightly puzzled relief, Joel bade them good night and straggled loose-jointedly out of the room. They listened until they heard his door close above.
“You don’t think he had anything to do with it?” asked Landis.
“I’m hanged if I know! Either he’s just crazy or he’s cunning and crazy. Or maybe he’s cunning enough to seem crazy! He has the skill and the motive and had the opportunity to kill his brother. He might shoot Graham to draw suspicion from himself, just because he would have no motive there. But that seems pretty far-fetched!”
“Let’s go up and see if Graham is asleep!” suggested Landis soothingly. “If he’s not, we’ll ask him about his wife. He’ll tell us all he knows, now, or I’m a billygoat.”
“Right you are,” agreed Bernard with a sigh.