his victim. Then, knowing that the noise would attract the janitor, he steps into the hall, hides somewhere, and, as Higgins rushes into the room, walks down the stair and escapes.
7.—We have Miss Croydon’s description of him.
Godfrey looked at his notes musingly.
“It’s a tangled web.” he said, at last. “A tangled web—there’s lots of threads that need straightening out. But, except for that first point, it’s not to be denied that Jimmy the Dude fits in with all the particulars. He was an acquaintance of Thompson, perhaps a friend; if he stole the key, he could have entered the rooms at any time; he’s certainly capable of killing a man, upon provocation. But the mystery is—what could the provocation have been? To protect Miss Croydon? But then, why kill Thompson? That shooting of an unconscious man argues a ferocity scarcely human. Robbery? But Jimmy nor any other sane person would deliberately murder a man under the eyes of a witness. Well, tomorrow will tell the story—to-day, rather. If Miss Croydon identifies him, that settles it—but I’ve a feeling that it will be a long time before I can fill in the rest of the drama. However, I’ll keep these notes.”
He was whistling softly to himself as he tore the sheets from the pad. Somehow, the case no longer harried and perplexed him as it had from the moment he recognised Miss Croydon, cowering against the wall in suite fourteen; a curious load was lifted from him; she was not guilty, she had committed at most only an indiscretion; she was free from stain. The
