“The janitor.”
“How’d he happen along with a policeman?”
“He heard the shot, and came upstairs just as the robber was starting down after leaving here. The robber turned around and ran upstairs, then, into an apartment on the seventh floor, and stayed there—keeping the woman who lives there, a Miss Eveleth, quiet with his revolver—until he got a chance to sneak out and get away. He knocked her unconscious before he left, and—and that’s all. McBirney called the police right after he saw the robber, but they got here too late to be any good.”
“How long were you in the closet?”
“Ten minutes—maybe fifteen.”
“What sort of looking man was the robber?”
“Short and thin and—”
“How short?”
“About your height, or maybe shorter.”
“About five feet five or six, say? What would he weigh?”
“Oh, I don’t know—maybe a hundred and fifteen or twenty. He was kind of puny.”
“How old?”
“Not more than twenty-two or three.”
“Oh, Papa,” Phylis objected; “he was thirty, or near it!”
“What do you think?” I asked Mrs. Coplin.
“Twendy-five, I’ll say.”