Page:Burton Stevenson--The marathon mystery.djvu/45

Rh “Higgins is my name,” said the janitor. “Simon Higgins.”

“Oh, yes; I remember now. I suppose they asked you about a million questions?”

“A million!” echoed Higgins, with scorn. “Ten million ’d be more like it! But it wasn’t so much that, as that they wouldn’t believe me when I told ‘em a thing. They seemed t’ think I was lyin’!”

Godfrey nodded sympathetically.

“That does get on a man’s nerves,” he agreed. “I feel a little upset, myself—won’t you try a smoke?”

Higgins took the cigar.

“It’s agin th’ rules,” he said, “but I don’t keer; I need it,” and he bit off the end.

They sat together for a moment in silence, listening to the tramp of feet in the halls overhead, the opening and closing of doors, the subdued murmur of voices. At the stair-foot, beyond the elevator, they caught a glimpse, now and then, of a policeman pacing back and forth.

“They’re searchin’ the house,” observed Higgins, at last, with a grimace of disdain. “I turned th’ keys over t’ them. Much they’ll find!”

“Nobody there, eh?” It was not really a question; it seemed more a sign of polite interest on Godfrey’s part.

“I ought t’ know. I told ’em they wasn’t nobody there. Ain’t I been here all evenin’ ‘cept fer that minute I run acrost th’ street? Nobody in nor out, ’cept th’ girl—not since seven o’clock. That was about th’ time that there blamed Thompson come in, too drunk t’ stand. He’d never ’a’ got home in th’ world