As they walked across to Fourteenth Street, Kirby told as much of the story as he could without betraying Esther McLean's part in it. He trusted Sanborn implicitly, but the girl's secret was not his to tell.
From James Cunningham Kirby had got the key of his uncle's apartment.
His cousin had given it to him a little reluctantly.
"The police don't want things moved about," he had explained. "They would probably call me down if they knew I'd let you in."
"All I want to do is to look the ground over a bit. What the police don't know won't worry 'em any," the cattleman had suggested.
"All right." James had shrugged his shoulders and turned over the key. "If you think you can find out anything I don't see any objection to your going in."
Sanborn applied his shrewd common sense to the problem as he listened to Kirby.
"Looks to me like you're overlookin' a bet, son," he said. "What about this Jap fellow? Why did he light out so pronto if he ain't in this thing?"
"He might 'a' gone because he's a foreigner an' guessed they'd throw it on him. They would, too, if they could."
"Shucks! He had a better reason than that for cuttin' his stick. Sure had. He's in this somehow."
"Well, the police are after him. They'll likely run him down one o' these days. Far as I'm concerned I've got to let his trail go for the present. There are possibilities right here on the ground that haven't been run down yet. For instance, Rose met a man an' a woman comin' down the stairs while she was goin' up. Who were they?"