There was nothing else after that, just darkness and waiting. Then presently there was a gray line around the window enclosure, and next he could see his hands when he held them out before his face, and then the night bloomed into day and the death watch was over.

He didn’t come down to the lobby for another hour, until the sun was up and there was not the slimmest possibility of anything happening any more—this time. He came out of the elevator looking haggard, and yet almost disappointed at the same time.

Maxon eyed him as though he’d never expected to see him again. “Anything?” he asked, unnecessarily.

“Nothing,” Striker answered.

Maxon turned without another word, went back to the safe, brought a bottle out to him.

“Yeah, I could use some of that,” was all the dick said.

“So I guess this shows,” Maxon suggested hopefully, “that there’s nothing to it after all. I mean about the room being—”

Striker took his time about answering. “It shows,” he said finally, “that whoever it is, is smarter than we gave ’em credit for. Knew enough not to tip their mitts. Nothing happened because someone knew I was in there, knew who I was, and knew why I was in there. And that shows it’s somebody in this hotel who’s at the bottom of it.”

“You mean you’re not through yet?”

“Through yet? I haven’t even begun!”

“Well, what’re you going to do next?”

“I’m going to catch up on a night’s sleep, first off,” Striker let him know. “And after that, I’m going to do a little clerical work. Then when that’s through, I’m going to keep my own counsel. No offense, but”—he tapped himself on the forehead—“only this little fellow in here is going to be in on it, not you nor the manager nor anyone else.”

He started his “clerical work” that very evening. Took the old ledgers for March 1933 and September 1934 out of the safe, and copied out the full roster of guests from the current one (July 1935). Then he took the two bulky volumes and the list of present guests up to his room with him and went to work.

First he cancelled out all the names on the current list that didn’t appear on either of the former two rosters. That left him with exactly three guests who were residing in the building now and who also had been in it at the time of one of the first two “suicides.” The three were Mr. and Mrs. Young, Atkinson (Peter the Hermit), and Miss Flobelle Heilbron (the cantankerous vixen in 911). Then he cancelled those of the above that didn’t appear on both of the former lists. There was only one name left uncancelled now. There was only one guest who had been in occupancy during each and every one of the three times that a “suicide” had taken place in 913. Atkinson and Miss Heilbron had been living in the hotel in March 1933. The Youngs and Miss Heilbron had been living in the building in September, 1934. Atkinson (who must have been away the time before on one of his nomadic “prospecting trips”), the Youngs, and Miss Heilbron were all here now. The one name that recurred triply was Miss Flobelle Heilbron.