"No, no." The janitor jumped to his feet, shaking his head rapidly, emphatically. "Mos' nev' come up here, me. No know what gone. Sleepa in basemen'. My wife she sick--she hear noding, me hear noding! Burg' he mus'a go up fi'-'scape into da kitch', you see? Wind' broke----" "Yes, I saw that the window was broken," said Peter, quietly. "Well, we're much obliged to you, Angelo. I guess we won't need you any more, but I may see you again. I may be coming in here a few times. It'll be all right. You can ask Sullivan. He knows me and Mr. Morris, too." At the words of dismissal the Italian, nothing loath, started for the door. Peter followed him into the hall. "You keep your eyes open, Angelo," he said, "and let us know if any one comes to this apartment. We'll make it worth your while. And, by the way, who has the apartment just below this?" The janitor's left hand was on the knob of the door. "Nobod'. He's empty. Been empty two, tree mont'." "All right, Angelo," said Peter, smiling genially. "Don't forget what I said about letting us know if any one, _any one_, mind, comes to this apartment or asks for Miss Blake or her sister. Find out who it is if you possibly can. It'll be worth more than this to you, by a damsight," and he thrust a folded bill into the janitor's welcoming palm. The Italian's sharp little eyes glanced up and away. "Me tella you somebod' come," he agreed, readily. "Oh, and before you go," said Peter, in an off-hand manner, "just leave me the door key, will you?" "Door he shutta da spring lock," explained Angelo, quickly. "No needa da key." "No?" said Peter, casually. "Well, I'd rather have the key, anyway. Always feel safer, somehow. I'm so absent-minded, Angelo, that I often forget things and have to go back for 'em, and if the door was shut, I'd have to go all the way to the basement to hunt you up, see? Just give me the key and I'll leave it with you when I go down." "Awright, awright," said the Italian, pulling a key from a ring which was secured by a chain to his belt. "Me tinka awright," and he opened the outer door. As he did so, the sun, nearing the zenith, shone in from the front room, striking full upon the white panels, and Peter, who was just behind him, uttered a sharp exclamation and started forward. Instinctively, he caught the Italian's arm and drew him away from the door. "Just a moment. Mr. Morris!" he called in a voice the excitement of which was carefully held in check. "Come here just a moment, will you?" "Look here." He spoke again as Donald Morris quickly reached his side. "Look at this!" Angelo Russo caught his breath, and crossed himself, fervently. "Madre di Dio!" he whispered to himself. Morris, leaning forward, felt a horrible shiver pass over him from head to foot. On the white door, just below the lock, was a long, dark splash of blood. CHAPTER VIII THE VOICE OVER THE WIRE