I put the finger on Jack Wagener. Disappointment came into Blanche Eveleth’s eyes.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “That’s not he.”
Garren scowled at her. It was a pipe that if the Coplins were tied up with young Wagener, they wouldn’t identify him as the robber. Bill had been counting on that identification coming from the two outsiders—Blanche Eveleth and the janitor—and now one of them had flopped.
The other one rang the bell just then, and the maid brought him into the room.
I pointed at Jack Wagener, who stood beside Garren, staring sullenly at the floor.
“Know him, McBirney?”
“Yeah. Mr. Wagener’s son Jack.”
“Is he the man who shooed you away with a gun last night?”
McBirney’s watery eyes popped in surprise.
“No,” he said with decision, and began to look doubtful.
“In an old suit, cap pulled down, needing a shave—could it have been him?”
“No‑o‑o,” the janitor drawled; “I don’t think so, though it—You know, now that I come to think about it, there was something familiar about that fella, an’ maybe—By cracky, I think maybe you’re right—though I couldn’t exactly say for sure.”
“That’ll do!” Garren grunted in disgust.