Author of “The Perfect Crime,” “The Fugitive Statue,” etc.
WHEN AN IMPORTANT BROKER AND AN EMINENT ACTOR MYSTERIOUSLY AND
SIMULTANEOUSLY VANISHED, IT HAD THE POLICE WORRIED. WHEN ON TOP OF
THAT THE BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER OF A RETIRED BUSINESS MAN HYSTERICALLY
REPORTED HER FATHER GONE WITHOUT A TRACE, IT BECAME A MATTER FOR
THE FAMOUS DETECTIVE LAVENDER HIMSELF.
My friend Lavender dwelt up four flights of steps, a wearisome climb
unless one were in training. Only the little landings at the end of
every flight kept me from perishing of thirst and fatigue on more than
one ascent. So at least I told Lavender. The journey offered no
difficulties to that agile young man himself. The trouble with me was
that I inclined toward—well, stoutness.
“The rooms are comfortable,” he would reply to my protests, “the windows
afford an excellent view of an interesting corner of town, and the
stairs are at once a protection and a blessing. The exercise I get in
going up and down is distinctly beneficial, while four flights are
sufficiently formidable to daunt bores and any but very determined
clients and friends. Thus my practice is kept within reasonable bounds,
my bank account is not the envy of the criminal class, and my circle of
intimates does not overflow the social space at my disposal. Besides,
the rooms are cheap.”
The really important thing about Lavender’s rooms was their convenience
to transportation. Overlooking a minor business section, not too far
from the Chicago Loop to be remote, the windows fronted north and west
and beneath them to the north actually lay an elevated railroad station.
And Morley of the Central Detail, who patronized the “L,” never found
the place too far nor the steps too numerous. He was a clever young
detective sergeant of the regular force, who occasionally visited
Lavender—clever chiefly in that he had sense enough to come to Lavender
when he was in difficulties. One morning he came up the steps in an
unusually bad humor, and that is part of the story I have to tell.
I had spent the night with Lavender and we had just finished breakfast,
sent up by the restaurateur on the corner, when we heard Morley’s
footsteps and shortly beheld his morose countenance. He gave me a
patronizing nod and shook hands warmly with Lavender.
We listened to his tale of woe. It seemed this time that one Peter
Vanderdonck, a picture broker of some importance, had disappeared and
that Morley was at his wit’s end.
“Usually,” said he, “there’s some sort of a clue, but in this case there
isn’t any thing that resembles one. I can’t get started without a clue
of some kind,” he grumbled with pathetic profanity.
“Who reported him missing?” asked Lavender.
“His damn landlord,” said Morley. “This Vanderdonck didn’t send a check
for his rent or something like that, so the guy—name’s Giles—sends for
the police. Thinks we’re bill collectors, I guess. Damn silly in my
opinion. Vanderdonck’s probably just gone out of town and forgotten his
rent.”
Lavender grinned. “Is the usual ‘foul play’ suspected?”
“By the landlord and the newspapers, sure!” replied Morley with heavy
irony. “There’s nothing to indicate it. I’ve been through his office. No
signs of a struggle. Nothing! Just as he must have left it. Not a thing
moved. He might never even have used it, for all the evidence.”
“Well,” smiled Lavender, “murder doesn’t always occur in a man’s office.
It’s conceivable that a man may be killed in the street or in his home.”
“Sure,” agreed the detective. “I ain’t a fool. But where do I start when
there ain’t a clue? Nobody seems to know Vanderdonck but this Giles
person, and nobody seems to know where he lives or whether he’s got
relatives or when he was last seen. It’s just a blank wall,” he ended,
with more profanity.
“A blankety-blank wall, evidently,” observed Lavender. “Well, Morley, I
don’t know what you expect me to do. I can’t reach into my vest pocket
and pull out the missing man. Wish I could! I’m going down town this
afternoon though, and I’ll look over this fellow’s rooms with you if
that’s what you want. Give me the address, and let’s say two o’clock.”
He smiled and picked up a morning newspaper.
“By the way, Morley,” he continued, “I hope an epidemic of
disappearances is not about to begin. There are two others recorded in
this morning’s paper, and your case makes three.”
Morley looked suspicious, as though he thought his leg was being pulled.
“I didn’t notice ’em,” he admitted.
“Charles Merritt is one of them. Know him? Rather well known and popular
comedian. He was playing in the ‘Tinfoil Revue.’ He didn’t show up at
the theatre a few nights ago, or at least, nobody seems to have seen
him. And nobody missed him until his first cue, which seems strange.
When he didn’t respond, of course everybody missed him. He wasn’t to be
found and there was some excitement before the difficulty could be
straightened out. Eventually they went ahead without him. The case is
several days old but the press has just got hold of it. The theatre
tried to keep it quiet. A queer case, don’t you think?”
“Drunk!” declared Morley without hesitation. “Who’s the other fellow?”
“It’s not a fellow, it’s a woman,” replied Lavender. “A Mrs.—Mrs.—” he
referred to the paper—“Mrs. Jameson of Rogers Park. Nice little suburban
widow. She went shopping yesterday morning and didn’t come home.”
“In a hospital somewhere,” asserted Morley promptly. “Run down,
unconscious, and can’t tell who she is. She’ll be found before night.”
Lavender sighed whimsically.
“It’s uncanny the way you solve these mysteries, Morley,” he said. “I
wish I could do it in twice the time! Well, well, I’m not trying to
suggest that there is any connection between your case and these others.
I’ll see you at two.”
He cocked an eye at me when our visitor had departed.
“The worst of it is, Lavender,” I said, “he’s probably right about one
or both of those cases. One case does resemble another very closely, for
the most part, and the obvious solution is often enough the correct one
as you yourself told me.”
“True,” agreed my friend. “He may even be right about his own case. This
Vanderdonck may have gone out of town very innocently, as Morley
suggests. It’s because it is so nearly always the expected that happens,
in spite of the old maxim, that the police are on the whole a successful
body of men. But, hello! Who’s this?”
There had interrupted him a long ring at the doorbell.
“I hope, speaking of epidemics, that an epidemic of visitors is not
about to begin,” he continued. “No heavy steps this time, Gilruth, nor
do they come two at a time. Light—rapid, but light. Chuck the dishes out
of sight like a good fellow, Gilly. We are about to receive a woman.”
“I have a feeling,” said I, “that we are going to hear about another
mysterious disappearance.”
Lavender looked interested.
“The deuce you have! Do you know, Gilly, I also had one for a moment.
But it is really too much to expect, right on the heels of Sergeant
Morley.”
The lady’s knock fell upon the door panel.
“Nevertheless,” whispered Lavender, “I am sure you are right.”
He opened the door, and there entered Miss Shirley Minor.
Of course, we did not know her by sight or by instinct. We learned her
name from her own lips some seconds after her appearance. We knew only
in that first glance that an extraordinarily lovely young woman stood on
the doorsill. Small, dark, alert. Her eyes, blue and anxious, looked
from one to the other of us and settled upon Lavender. A little smile at
once eager and wistful played about her lips.
Then she said, “I am Shirley Minor. May I come in?”
The name meant nothing in the world to either of us but we smiled in
unison, like a vaudeville duo.
“Of course,” said Lavender, and I think I added, “Please do!”
“You had a visitor,” she said, “so I waited until he had gone.”
We seated her near the window where she at once exploded her bombshell.
It was not quite unexpected.
“Mr. Lavender,” she said piteously, “my father has disappeared!”
I looked at Lavender. He was looking at Shirley Minor. He was not in the
least surprised nor excited. He merely smiled encouragingly at the girl.
“Yes?” he said. “And of course you want me to assist you to find him. I
shall be happy to aid, of course. Just take a fresh grip on your nerves,
Miss Minor, and tell us all about it. It is our business to help.”
His calm interest and his cheerful smile had the desired effect. The
anxiety faded from her eyes, and in a moment she smiled back at him.
“I’m afraid you will think me foolish, for after all father may have
disappeared in a very usual manner. I mean, he may have gone away for a
little while without bothering to leave word. Just the same I am
anxious. You see, I have been away for some time myself. Only yesterday
I returned from New York where I have been for some months. Father is
hardly a notable correspondent, but I did hear from him once in a while,
just a note to say that he was well. He always hated to write letters. I
wrote reams to him, of course. Yesterday when I returned I found my
three last letters to him in the mailbox. Apparently he hadn’t been home
to receive them. And I hadn’t heard from him before I left New York for
nearly two weeks.”
“Was he expecting you to return?” asked Lavender, still cheerful.
“No, he wasn’t,” admitted Miss Minor with an air of guilt. “You see, I
was somewhat anxious about not hearing from father, but not actively
alarmed. I supposed that he didn’t feel like writing. But in the
background of my thought there was a slight fear that perhaps he was
ill. I knew that if I wired that I was coming home and he was ill, he
would wire back to stop me. That’s his way, he doesn’t like to be fussed
over. So as I was tired of New York anyway I just thought I’d come home
and surprise him.”
“When did he expect you to return?”
“Well, not for another month at least, I’m afraid.”
“And your mother——?”
“My mother is dead,” said Miss Minor.
“I see! Your father, I fancy, is Cyril Minor? I thought so. Well, Miss
Minor, you are probably alarming yourself about nothing in particular.
Inasmuch as he did not expect you to return there was no reason why he
should not leave town for a while, if it occurred to him. Still you
probably did well to come to me. If anything has happened it is well to
know about it early, isn’t it? You have no idea where he might have
gone, supposing him to have left town for a visit?”
“None in the world. His interests were all in Chicago, in recent years
anyway; in his home and his club. Except for an old aunt up in Canada I
don’t believe he has a relative in the world, other than I.”
“Most men have friends,” said Lavender, “and if I remember your father’s
reputation, he had no enemies. You haven’t been to the police, I
suppose?”
Miss Minor had not.
“Good,” nodded Lavender. “Don’t bother them just now. Leave the matter
in my hands for a time. Probably you’ll hear from your father when your
mail is forwarded from New York, but in any case don’t worry. Now tell
me something of your father’s habits.”
After considerable questioning it developed that Cyril Minor was quite a
creature of habit, with a trail that ordinarily a blind man could
follow. He arose late as a rule, breakfasted at home, and went for a
walk. His walk led him usually to his club, the Waldron, where he
lunched and read the papers. Presumably he remained at the club during
most of the afternoon, and dined there. He had no office of his own, for
although only forty-four years of age he had retired from business. A
man of considerable wealth obviously, with wide interests that brought
him a constant and comfortable flow of money without the necessity of
desk labor. In the evening he often went to the theatre, usually alone,
since he was a widower, and he reached his home about eleven o’clock or
between eleven and twelve. Very seldom was he later than midnight.
It was a commendable and consequently prosy record.
“There were three of your letters, I understand, that he did not
receive,” continued Lavender, probing for a gleam of light. “About when
would the first of them have been written?”
“About a week ago. I wrote pretty often.”
“So that he may have been away for a week, possibly a little less. All
right, Miss Minor, I’ll make the proper inquiries and report as soon as
I have anything to report. And be sure to let me know if you hear of
anything.”