“He’s a retired real estate agent. The others are his wife and son Jack—a boy of maybe nineteen. I see him with Phylis Coplin a lot.”
“How long have the Coplins been here?”
“It’ll be two years next month.”
I turned from Mrs. McBirney to her husband.
“Did the police search all these people’s apartments?”
“Yeah,” he said. “We went into every room, every alcove an’ every closet from cellar to roof.”
“Did you get a good look at the robber?”
“Yeah. There’s a light in the hall outside of the Coplins’ door, an’ it was shinin’ full on his face when I saw him.”
“Could he have been one of your tenants?”
“No, he couldn’t.”
“Know him if you saw him again?”
“You bet.”
“What did he look like?”
“A little runt; a light-complected youngster of twenty-three or four in an old blue suit.”
“Can I get hold of Ambrose and Martinez—the elevator and door boys who were on duty last night—now?”
The janitor looked at his watch.
“Yeah. They ought to be on the job now. They come on at two.”