CHAPTER 2

We drew a stiff though courteous blank at the Waldron. Without being outstandingly eager to aid us, the club staff was polite and answered what questions Lavender had to put. This was natural, for we had said nothing about Miss Minor’s visit to us and the club attendants naturally wondered what our call portended. Lavender is a plausible person, however, and merely let it be known that he was anxious to get into touch with Cyril Minor, who was not to be found at his home.

Mr. Minor, it seemed, had not been seen about the club for a week. Yes, it was a bit unusual but not perhaps extraordinary. There was no mail waiting for him. He received very little mail at the club, however. None of his particular friends were in, at the moment. Perhaps Mr. Minor himself would be back before long. Who was he to be told had called?

As this latter suggestion was something more than a possibility Lavender penned a brief note, sealed it, and left it to await the return of the missing man. In it he advised Mr. Minor to get into immediate communication with his daughter who was at home and anxious about him.

“Whether the fellow is a good citizen or a scoundrel, I suppose he’s fond of his daughter,” remarked Lavender as we left the building. “I would be,” he added. “And now, Gilly, we are exactly where we began. I shall have to visit Miss Minor in her home apparently, and look over her father’s papers if she will permit it. Meanwhile we are in the general neighborhood of Morley’s difficulties, suppose we have a look at Vanderdonck’s office.”

“It’s a long way to two o’clock,” I reminded him.

“So it is,” agreed Lavender, stepping out briskly. “The absence of Sergeant Morley at the scene of his failure will greatly expedite our own investigation, I am sure.”

A few blocks lay between us and the building in part occupied by the picture broker’s establishment. We covered them rapidly. A dingy building it was, too, when we had found it. A building occupied for the most part by second-rate lawyers and booking agents, with one creaking elevator and four flights of toilsome, reminiscent stairs. We took the elevator for choice and ascended to the third story, where in time we came upon the dismal office of Peter Vanderdonck. The name was on the door. On the door also was a fly-specked card with the legend in black. “Back in an hour.” No doubt it had been used for years; it looked as if it were never taken down. No doubt also it had been put up on the occasion of Peter Vanderdonck’s last farewell to his office. Had he expected to be back in an hour, I wondered? Or had his going been voluntary and final? Or for the matter of that, had it been involuntary and final?

It was an old key-lock, typical of the building, and Lavender had hardly touched it with a little steel instrument that he carried when the door opened. Used to my friend and his ways, I was not at all shocked. I had watched him pick many a lock in my time, although I had never seen him pick one with greater ease.

There were two rooms within, an anteroom and an inner sanctum. The anteroom, into which we first penetrated, was soberly, even dingily, furnished with a table, a couch, three chairs, and a telephone. Some framed prints were on the walls, some books and magazines were on the table beside the telephone. It was all old but in good enough taste, and it reminded me of a small doctor’s anteroom more than anything else. I wondered why a picture broker should inhabit such a dull hole.

With a comprehensive glance Lavender pushed through into the inner chamber. To our surprise it was no more handsomely furnished than the outer room had been. A great safe stood alongside one wall, with the name “Peter Vanderdonck” upon it in letters of red and gold. There was a small rolltop desk standing open, a swivel chair, a small table, and a telephone extension. In a corner, quite unscreened, was a porcelain washstand, and in the closet we found towels—three of them, one of which was dirty. There were no pictures whatever on the walls, although there were marks to show where pictures once had hung, and there were screw holes in the floor near the window where evidently something once had been clamped to the floor. All in all it was an amazing office to be occupied by a “well known picture broker.” Lavender thought so, too.

Besides the closet door there was one other. It was paneled with ground glass and was obviously another entrance, or exit, giving onto the other corridor of the building. No lettering appeared on it and the door was locked. There was no key.

I looked my distaste.

“Queer place, isn’t it?” Lavender answered my glance. “I don’t wonder that Morley was stumped. I begin to think better of this case than I do of my own, Gilly.”

He picked the lock of the door leading to the second corridor and looked out. He tried the door on its hinges.

“Works well,” said he. “I suppose Vanderdonck has the key, wherever Mr. Vanderdonck is! A place with two entrances and exits is always useful.”

He examined the dirty towel hanging in the closet, carrying it to the light for a better scrutiny. Then he cocked an eye at the big safe. I knew that he was seriously considering a more serious pick-lock job than the earlier ones. Finally he walked over to the washstand and examined the bowl. He touched the porcelain with his sensitive fingers, looked at his forefinger, sniffed it, and turned on the water.

“Doesn’t run out very readily,” he remarked at length. “A bit clogged, I fancy. And notice how the drops at the last cling to the sides of the bowl.”

“Very interesting,” I smiled, “but what do you gather from that?”

“I’d like to see the contents of that safe,” he answered thoughtfully.

Once more putting temptation away from him, however, he turned his attention to the holes in the floor, then to the small desk. The latter yielded little. There was a quantity of stationery, letterheads and envelopes, all bearing the name of Peter Vanderdonck, and the top sheet and envelope of each pile was dusty save where a thumb had smeared the dust into a smudge.

“Morley’s thumb,” grunted Lavender, staccato.

In the meantime I devoted myself to an investigation of the anteroom. But the table drawer was empty and nothing offered but the books and magazines. In the heap of the latter was one newspaper a month old, which I resurrected and idly glanced over. Then I noticed that a paragraph had been ringed with a blue pencil mark and I read the notice. After which I carried it to Lavender.

“Do you suppose this is important?” I asked and handed him the paper.

He carefully read the marked paragraph and a quaint wrinkle appeared above the bridge of his nose.

“An interesting coincidence, at any rate,” he said half to himself.

“A dramatic criticism—” I began.

“In which he happened to be interested? Just that, Gilly. But why was he interested, supposing Vanderdonck to have marked the paper? For that matter, why was he interested, supposing someone else to have marked the paper and sent it to him? Did you note the cast of characters?”

“Yes,” I replied, “I did.” Then an idea struck me, and I added with a smile, “But Charles Merritt’s name is not in the cast, Jimmie. You can’t connect up that case.”

“So you thought of the Merritt mystery, did you? Well, it’s true that his name isn’t here, but someone else’s name is. The part of ‘Mabel Greensleeve’ is played, if you please, by Miss Sidney Kane. And who is Miss Sidney Kane, Gilly?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“She is, although somewhat elderly, one of the bright and shining stars, I believe, of the ‘Tinfoil Revue,’ in which Charles Merritt played a character sketch until his disappearance.”

I considered this in silence.

“It’s pretty thin, Lavender,” I said at length.

“Of course it’s thin! But she’s there, and it’s an interesting coincidence, as I remarked. In connection with the disappearance of Mr. Vanderdonck and the condition of his washstand, it’s doubly interesting.”

“His washstand?” I echoed feebly.

“And his towel,” said Lavender.

A moment later his eye was again on the great safe against the wall.

“I’d give a cookie to see the contents of that thing,” he observed thoughtfully. “But it’s Morley’s job after all, and if it’s to be opened it must be his responsibility. I suspect the police are waiting for relatives to turn up.”

Saying which, he strolled over to the safe and began to play with the knob. What would have happened had he continued, I have no idea, but he had barely begun when a key was inserted in the outer door, and Lavender desisted and rose to his feet.

“Morley. Ahead of time,” I ventured.

But it was not Morley. There entered instead a little old man with a warty face, hooked nose, and wide mouth. These with his stooping shoulders and small beady eyes gave him a generally inferior presence that was offensive. The apparition looked from Lavender to me and back at Lavender.

“What are you doing here?” it barked.

“Mr. Giles, I believe?” responded Lavender with suave courtesy. “Your question is surprising, to say the least. I had supposed our investigation to have been undertaken by your desire and authority.”

The extraordinary ability possessed by my friend to convey a false impression without falsehood always has been my envy and delight. The ironic purport of the remark quite bowled over the little man in the doorway.

“I beg your pardon,” he stammered. “I thought Sergeant Morley was in charge of the case.”

“Sergeant Morley will be here at two,” said Lavender icily. “But it’s all right, Mr. Giles. Now that you are here perhaps you can give us some information.”

“Anything at all, anything at all,” stuttered Giles. He now appeared to be eager and able to solve any difficulty we might propound to him, including the riddle of the Sphinx.

“How long had Mr. Vanderdonck been a tenant of yours?”

“Two years, Sergeant——”

“Lieutenant!” I said severely. “Lieutenant Lavender!”

“I beg your pardon! Two years, Lieutenant Lavender.”

Lavender threw me a venomous glance and proceeded. “He had never vanished this way before, of course?”

“He always paid his rent promptly, that’s all I know,” responded Giles. “He sent a check the first of every month. When it didn’t come this month, or on the second or third, neither, I came over to see him. Hadn’t seen him since he took the rooms. Well, he wasn’t here and he hasn’t been here since.”

Lavender appeared to be shocked by this delinquency.

“So you very properly went to the police,” he agreed. “Do I understand that you only saw this Mr. Vanderdonck once in your life?”

“The day he took the rooms,” answered Giles with a nod. “I don’t bother them that pays their rent, and this Vanderdonck never bothered me.”

“Hm-m!” mumbled Lavender. “Do you remember him? How he looked?”

“I never forget a face,” declared Giles with emphasis. “He was middle aged, rather dark, and his hair was beginning to get gray. Pretty tall man he was, and heavy I should say, though he didn’t look it.”

“You know nothing about his business?”

“Not a thing. Looks to me now as if he didn’t have any!”

Lavender smiled sweetly.

“You are quite right, Mr. Giles. He didn’t.”

“What!” cried the landlord.

“Who occupied these rooms before Mr. Vanderdonck took them?” demanded Lavender.

“A dentist fellow named Bradbury.”

Lavender chuckled and rubbed his hands. “Ah,” said he, “it’s a black, black case. But we have it in hand, Mr. Giles. Trust us, leave it entirely in our hands, and say nothing!”

We got rid of the old fool at last, and Lavender looked at his watch.

“Half past dinner time,” he announced. “We’re wasting moments, Gilly. I’ll leave a note here for Morley to say we’ve been here and won’t be back, then we’ll go to luncheon and afterward we’ll transfer our attentions to the more pleasant and lucrative task of aiding Miss Minor.”

“But what did you mean by telling that fellow that Vanderdonck had no business?” I asked.

“Just that,” was the reply. “He came here as a blind. The whole office shows it. Everything is practically as the dentist left it two years ago. Vanderdonck just moved in. The holes in the floor indicate where the chair of pain used to be, the walls have not been cleaned since the dentist took down his pictures, and the books and magazines for the most part were left there by the old tenant. The place was never intended for occupancy. Vanderdonck came here when it was necessary only. But someone else came here, too—came here and didn’t leave again. The safe will tell the story. I’ll tell Morley enough to make it look like his discovery. But the fact is, Gilly, I’m as sure as I’m here that the safe contains all that is left of Charles Merritt!”

I spun about and looked with horror at the great black hideous thing, and a dreadful picture formed in my mind as I seemed to see the door swing open, upon—what? But Lavender, without a shudder, sat down to pen his note to Morley.