“Well what?”
“The fourth disappearance!” said I. “It does look like an epidemic,
doesn’t it?”
He smiled. “Well, yes, superficially. Of course it’s nothing of the
sort. People disappear every day, I’m sure, and most of them don’t get a
line in the papers. This looks significant to us because of Morley’s
visit and because of my remarks about the two cases mentioned by the
press. Miss Minor’s visit so immediately followed Morley’s that the
temptation to find a connection is natural. Natural, but romantic,” he
added dryly. “Which is not to say that both cases are not serious. They
may be very serious indeed, and again they may be very trifling and
unimportant. At the moment I prefer not to reach conclusions.”
He lighted a cigarette and lost himself in thought for a few minutes.
Then, looking at the clock, he got quickly to his feet.
“Just the same, since I’ve undertaken this case and have promised Morley
to have a look at his case, I must not waste time. But I’m bound to say,
Gilly, that on the face of things I never knew two cases that promised
less.”
Even Lavender, however, was no prophet.
—— II ——
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.