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Lee Mappin had now reached the point where he read with care every word in the newspapers appertaining to the Gartrey case. His face turned a little grim next morning when he came upon this item in the Herald Tribune:

Amos Lee Mappin, the well-known author and criminologist, is known to have called on Mrs. Jules Gartrey at her apartment late last night. What took place during this interview can only be surmised, but it looks as if Mr. Mappin was preparing to enter the case on behalf of the missing Alastair Yohe.

Tipped off the paper herself, thought Lee.

When he reached the office he was a little disturbed to see the glint of a fresh determination in Fanny Parran’s blue eye. She did not keep him long in doubt as to what it portended. Bringing in the mail, she said:

“Pop, I’ve been thinking all night about something you said to Judy yesterday.”

“What was that, my dear?”

“You said you couldn’t make any move to help Al Yohe unless you could hear his story.”

“That’s right,” said Lee, wondering what on earth was coming next.

“Would you consent to see Al Yohe and let him tell you his story?”

Lee almost bounced out of his chair. “Good God! Fanny, do you realize what you’re saying?”

“Perfectly.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No,” she said calmly.

“What am I to understand from this extraordinary proposition of yours?”

“Well,” she said cautiously, “I’ve been approached by somebody who knows Al and presumably is able to communicate with him.”

“Was it Mrs. Gartrey?” demanded Lee.

Fanny turned pink with anger. “No indeed! I believe that woman is playing a double part and Judy thinks so, too.”

“Then who was it?”

Fanny’s soft lips hardened. “I won’t tell you that, Pop. It’s useless for you to ask me.”

“My dear girl,” said Lee, holding himself in, “don’t you understand that for you to have any truck with a fugitive from justice without informing the police, constitutes you an accessory to his crime?”

Fanny was unimpressed. “Surely, I know it. It’s one of those things men make such a fuss about that you might think it was important.”

“And what is more important?”

“Many things. Justice, honor, good faith—” Fanny touched her breast, “and that something in here which prompts you how to act in a specific case whatever the usual rules may be.”

“I am being instructed,” said Lee dryly.

“I am only applying what you have taught me,” said Fanny firmly.

Though he preserved an appearance of calmness, Lee was growing a little warm. “Those are brave words,” he said, “but the plain truth of the matter is that you have become infatuated with this ...”

Fanny turned pink again. “That’s not so, Pop. It’s not desire for the man that has got me going, but a desire to see justice done. Why this woman who came to me ...”

“So it was a woman!”

“She is much closer to Al Yohe than I could ever be—or wish to be. Would I be trying to help her if I wanted him myself?”

Lee shifted ground a little. “Am I to understand that this request for an interview comes from the woman or from Al himself?”

“From Al. He wants nothing in the world so much as a chance to tell you his story.”

“Do you know his story?”

“I do not, and neither does the person who came to me. Al will not tell it to anybody but yourself.”

“Can’t he write it?”

“He dare not trust it to paper.”

“But if he told me his story I would have to carry it direct to the police.”

“Al does not believe that you would do that after hearing his story, that is, not until you had conducted an investigation of your own. There are certain facts that have to be established. The truth is well hidden and he feels that only you can dig it up. It would be fatal to put it in the hands of the police.”

Lee had recovered his good humor. “This is horribly tempting,” he said. “My curiosity is at fever heat, but I must stick to the line I have adopted. Unless I play along with the police I might as well go out of business altogether.”

“Then I am to send word that you refuse to see Al Yohe?”

“Unless there is a policeman present,” said Lee, smiling.

“No good,” said Fanny glumly. “He won’t give himself up.”

“And what’s more,” said Lee, “for your own sake I must urge you to play along with me. This is a dangerous business you’re embarking in, my dear. Let the young fellow be arrested and you may rest assured that I will leave no stone unturned to discover the truth.”

She shook her head. “That’s your notion of the right thing to do; you must let me have mine. I couldn’t betray the girl who trusts me. You can fire me if you like.”

Lee was startled. “Bless your heart, I’m not going to fire you! But you mustn’t tempt me any further. If I did right I would report this conversation to Inspector Loasby, but I’m going to stretch my conscience that far.”

Fanny went out with her chin up.

Presently Lee taxied down to Headquarters. The moment Loasby caught sight of him he said bitterly:

“I see you’ve started your own investigation of the Gartrey case!” The handsome Inspector, owing to his failure to arrest Al Yohe, had been the target of biting criticism in the press. He was inordinately sensitive to criticism.

“To a certain extent,” said Lee composedly, “but not at the behest of the lovely widow.”

“What did she say to you?”

“Wanted to retain me in her interest at a big fee ...”

“Some men have all the luck!”

“I declined the fee.... The only thing she said that interested me was to suggest that Robert Hawkins was the murderer.”

“Don’t believe it! Hawkins is the only square shooter in the whole crooked bunch. What motive could he have had?”

“She suggested that some powerful enemy of Gartrey’s had hired the butler to do away with his master.”

Loasby considered this. “Well, it’s worth looking into. It puts a new angle on the case.”

“Keep it under your hat for the present,” said Lee. “Will you let me talk to Hawkins before you take any action?”

Loasby glanced at him with suspicion in his eye.

“I have no interest in this matter except to satisfy my own curiosity,” said Lee blandly; “and if I work with anybody it will only be with you.... It won’t be the first time.”

The Inspector’s face cleared. “Sure that’s right, Mr. Mappin.” Picking up a phone from his desk, he asked a subordinate for the address of Robert Hawkins, and when it came, repeated it to Lee. “147A Orthodox Street, Frankford, Philadelphia. Is known there under his right name. The landlady is Mrs. Quimby.”

Lee made a note of it. “I’ll run over to Philadelphia and report to you on my return.”

Loasby said: “Hawkins doesn’t know it, but I’m keeping him under surveillance, just in case anybody should try to bribe him to make a real disappearance. The story he tells is very unpleasing to Al Yohe’s friends.”

“Quite,” said Lee.

At the address on Orthodox Street some two hours later, Lee found an old-fashioned rooming house. The door was opened to him by a decent body who looked as if she might belong to the Quaker meeting house across the road.

“Is Mr. Hawkins home?”

“I’ll see, sir.”

“I won’t trouble you to climb the stairs,” said Lee. “Just tell me which is his room and I’ll go up.”

There was nothing about Lee’s natty little person to arouse a landlady’s suspicions. “Two flights up, sir. Front hall room.”

Lee knocked on the door and an agreeable voice bade him come in. The narrow room was shabby, comfortable and clean. The tenant, an elderly man, clean-shaven, was sitting by the window, reading. From old habit, Lee glanced first at the title of his book: The Life of Andrew Jackson. Hawkins hastily put the book down and rose, removing his glasses. He was tall and well made; his expression mild and benignant.

“I beg your pardon, sir. I thought it was the maidservant.”

English, obviously, an old family servant whose beautiful manners had no trace of obsequiousness. This is very flattering to the masters. Lee could not help but feel drawn to Hawkins. He reminded himself that the perfect butler is the product of art, not of nature. After forty years of butlering, it would be impossible for an observer to tell what was really passing through a butler’s mind.

“Do you know me?” asked Lee. “If you do, it will save explanations.”

“Your face is familiar, sir, but I can’t quite place it.”

“Amos Lee Mappin.”

The old man’s eyes widened in surprise. “Mr. Mappin! Indeed, sir, I know you well by reputation.”

“Then you know I’m not a mere curiosity seeker. The New York police furnished me with your address. I want to talk to you about the Gartrey case.”

“Please to be seated, Mr. Mappin.” He insisted on Lee’s taking the comfortable chair by the window; himself remained standing.

“Sit down,” urged Lee. “You are not in service now.”

Hawkins sat in a plain chair beside the washstand.

“I will assume,” said Lee, “that your story as reported in the newspapers was substantially correct. You need not repeat it but just answer my questions. At three o’clock last Monday afternoon Mr. Yohe came to see Mrs. Gartrey and you let him in.”

“Yes, sir. I couldn’t swear to the exact hour.”

“It doesn’t matter. Was he expected?”

“Yes, sir. Mrs. Gartrey had told me to bring him direct to her bou ... her sitting room.”

Lee did not miss the slip. “Her boudoir?”

“Yes, sir. That is what we called the room. But I have noticed in the United States that boudoir is taken to mean a bedroom, and I do not wish to convey a misapprehension. It was Mrs. Gartrey’s private sitting room where she received her friends.”

Lee smiled at the old man’s conscientiousness. “I do not misapprehend you, Hawkins. Had he visited her before?”

Hawkins looked distressed. “Yes, sir, I am obliged to tell the truth. Many times, sir.”

“Were they lovers?”

The old butler was shocked. “How should I know, sir?”

“Well, what is your opinion? Understand this is just for my information, not for the record.”

“If my opinion is of any value to you, sir, I should say no. The young man’s bearing was not that of a lover.”

“And the lady’s?”

“She was infatuated with him, sir. But saving myself, no one would be likely to have perceived it. I have lived a long time and have seen much.”

“Is it your opinion, Hawkins, that Mr. Yohe shot Mr. Gartrey?”

“No, indeed, sir!” came the prompt reply. “I cannot conceive of his doing such a thing! It is a great grief to me that I am forced to give what appears to be damaging testimony against Mr. Yohe. Such a merry young gentleman! Every servant in the house was devoted to him. He didn’t treat us like inferior beings, but as his friends. He has a good heart, sir.”

“Hm!” said Lee, stroking his chin. This was not the sort of answer he had expected; it didn’t fit any of the possible theories. It annoyed him. “And your master,” he asked dryly, “were you attached to him?”

“I could hardly say that, sir. Mr. Gartrey was a very reticent man; he never, so to speak, unbent.”

“And Mrs. Gartrey?”

“A good mistress, Mr. Mappin; fair, and I may say, liberal. But hardly to arouse any warmth of feeling, if you know what I mean. She wouldn’t have liked it.”

“What were the relations between master and mistress?”

“Always polite, sir.”

“Friendly?”

“Not exactly to say friendly, sir, but they never quarreled before the servants.”

“In these situations it is necessary to speak plainly, Hawkins. Did they sleep together?”

“No, sir.”

“Did other gentlemen come to see Mrs. Gartrey?”

“Oh, yes, sir, many gentlemen.”

“Hawkins, can you be certain that there was no other gentleman in the apartment on Monday when Mr. Gartrey was shot?”

“Absolutely, sir. Why, how could he have got in without our knowing it, or the elevator man, or the boys in the hall downstairs?”

Lee spread out his hands. Realizing that he wasn’t getting very far, he changed his line. “Hawkins, is the Gartrey apartment a duplex?”

“No, sir; all the rooms are on the same level.”

“Where is the boudoir?”

“Facing the avenue in the bedroom wing, sir. There is a door from the foyer into the bedroom corridor and in the corridor it’s the first door on your right.”

“Can you draw me a rough plan?”

“Certainly, sir.” Hawkins procured pencil and paper and presently offered the result for Lee’s inspection. “In the bedroom wing, you see, sir, there are three rooms on the front. They constitute Mrs. Gartrey’s suite; boudoir, dressing room and bedroom. Mr. Gartrey’s bedroom and his study are across the corridor.”

“Now, to return to Monday,” said Lee, “after you had shown Mr. Yohe into the boudoir where did you go?”

“I returned to the pantry, sir. Monday afternoon is my time for polishing the silver. I was not interrupted at it until I heard the muffled shot in the foyer. You see, there was a hallway with a door between.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure that it was a shot. No other sounds followed. I listened for a moment or two, then I wiped my hands, took off my baize apron, put on my coat and started for the hall leading to the foyer. Before I reached it, Mr. Yohe appeared in the opening. I said: ‘Is there anything wrong, sir?’ He didn’t answer me. He looked very wild. Perhaps he didn’t hear. Crossing the pantry, he went on out to the service door and disappeared through it.”

“You made no attempt to stop him?”

“No, sir. I only kept asking what was the matter. I was dumbfounded!”

“What about his hat and coat?”

“Hat on his head, overcoat over his arm, sir.”

Lee considered. “Hawkins,” he said, “if you stopped to listen, to take off your apron and put on your coat, a minute or so must have passed since the shot was fired.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you suppose Yohe was doing during that minute? He seems to have been in a powerful hurry since he forgot the gun.”

“That has occurred to me, sir. It seems as if Mr. Yohe could not have been in the foyer when the shot was fired. Of course, he had to pick up his hat and coat, but that was right at hand. That wouldn’t have taken a minute.”

“When he came through the door from the foyer, did he have gloves on—or one glove?”

“No, sir, both his hands were bare.”

“Could you swear to that?”

“Positively, sir.”

“He had gloves with him?”

“Yes, sir. I had seen them in the pocket of his topcoat when I took it. Presumably they were still there.”

“Well, that’s a point in his favor.”

Hawkins looked pleased.

“You then ran into the foyer?” Lee continued.

“Yes, sir. But I lost a minute or two. I first ran after Mr. Yohe, begging him to tell me what was the matter. I followed him out to the service stairs. He ran down the stairs. I went back to the foyer.”

“Describe what you saw.”

The old man was agitated now. His lip trembled, he paused to pass a handkerchief over his face. Recovering himself, he said: “My master was lying at full length on the floor just inside the entrance door. He was lying partly on his right side and there was a bullet hole in his left temple. He had been killed instantly and he did not bleed much. His latchkey was in his right hand; his hat had rolled away in front of him. The gun lay about two yards from the body.”

“On which side?”

“Toward the front of the building; that is to say, near the opening into the music room.” Hawkins illustrated on his plan.

“Was it the custom of your master to let himself in without ringing?”

“No, sir. I had never known him to do such a thing. He might open the door with his key, but he always rang outside to summon a servant to take his hat and coat.”

“You were the first on the scene. Who next appeared?”

“Mrs. Gartrey and the maid, Eliza Young, sir. Eliza came out of the bedroom corridor and Mrs. Gartrey from the music room.”

“The music room?”

“Yes, sir. There is a door between boudoir and music room.” Hawkins pointed to it on his plan. “It was really shorter for her because there are two doors to open the other way.”

“But why did she allow several minutes to elapse before she appeared at all?”

“How can I answer that, sir?”

“Well, go on.”

“There was great confusion, Mr. Mappin. I’m afraid I cannot give you a very clear account. The cook, the kitchen maid and the two housemaids came. They were hysterical. I was the only man in the house ...”

“And you had your hands full,” put in Lee.

“Yes, sir. We employ a second man, John Denman by name, but he had gone to the watchmaker’s to have his watch repaired.”

“What time did Denman go out?”

“Shortly after three, sir.”

“After Mr. Yohe had come?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What time did he return?”

“About four-thirty. The police had been in the apartment for some time.”

“Hawkins, what is your opinion of this man Denman?”

“Personally, I never cared for the young fellow, sir. Always watching and listening; too sly for my taste. But he did his work all right.”

“How did your mistress bear herself, Hawkins?”

“She was shocked, sir. She looked awful.”

“Hysterical?”

“Not her, sir. She kept quiet. She had her wits about her.”

“Did she approach the body?”

“No, sir. She told me to call a doctor. I said: ‘Mr. Gartrey is dead, Madam.’ She said: ‘Call a doctor anyhow.’ I did so. I then asked her if I should notify the police. She said: ‘This is not a case for the police; he killed himself.’ She indicated the gun. I pointed out to her that he still had the key in his right hand. There is a doctor’s office in the building and he came immediately; Mrs. Gartrey’s own physician a couple of minutes later.”

“Was there any other telephoning done?”

“No, sir, not at that time. News of the shooting had spread through the house and all kinds of people were trying to get into the apartment. I had all I could do to keep them out. A policeman came in off the street and it was him who telephoned to his captain and the captain notified Headquarters. The confusion got worse and worse until Mr. Coler came. He straightened us out.”

Lee thought this over, stroking his chin. “Hawkins,” he said finally, “I suppose there are many possible hiding places in that big apartment.”

“Oh, yes, sir. There is the coat closet in the foyer and there is the powder room, opening off. The rear hall is lined with cupboards which I have not indicated on the plan.”

“Was the apartment searched for a possible skulker?”

“No, sir. We couldn’t conceive how anybody could have got in without being seen.”

Lee said: “According to my recollection the entrance foyer is sparsely furnished. Is there any piece of furniture behind which an assassin could have concealed himself until Mr. Gartrey was well inside the door?”

“No, sir. There is no furniture at all on that side of the foyer.”

“Hm!” said Lee. “This is a hard nut that you have given me to crack, Hawkins.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is the entrance door a self-closing one?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lee’s further questioning elicited nothing material from the old man. When Lee finally got up to leave, Hawkins said:

“What is your opinion, Mr. Mappin?”

As Hawkins asked the question, Lee became aware that there was another, a sharper personality peeping from behind the benignant façade. But he could not be sure that it was evil.

“I am completely at sea,” he said.

“If Mr. Yohe would only come back and clear himself!” sighed the old man.

“So say we all of us!” agreed Lee.

As Lee came down the stairs on his way out, the courteous landlady appeared below to open the door for him. Lee’s eyes twinkled behind the polished glasses.

“Mrs. Quimby, do you ever cash checks?” he asked.

Naturally, she was astonished. “Why ... why ... why for my lodgers, sir, not for strangers.”

“Where does Mr. Hawkins bank?”

She was so flustered that she answered without thinking. “At the Girard National, sir.”

“Thank you so much,” said Lee. “Don’t mention to anybody that I asked you.”

Out on the sidewalk he glanced at his watch. Being Saturday, the bank would be closed, but there might be somebody on the premises.

He taxied into the city and found a vice president at the Girard National. Lee, introducing himself, stated his errand and the vice president sent for a bookkeeper with his ledger. This man said:

“The account of Robert Hawkins was opened two days ago with a deposit of $2,500. This was a cashier’s check from a New York bank. This morning Mr. Hawkins is credited with cash, $5,000, deposited here in the banking house.”

Lee’s face was like a mask. “Is the teller who took the money available?”

He was presently produced, a slender, pale young man with an expression of anxiety, wondering why he had been sent for from the front office.

“This deposit in cash to the credit of Robert Hawkins,” said the vice president, “do you remember who made it?”

“Yes, sir, the circumstances being a little unusual. It was a young gentleman, sir; good-looking, extremely well dressed. I took him for a junior partner in a prominent law firm, or a stockbroker.”

“In what form was the money?”

“Tens and twenties, sir.”

“Were the numbers taken?” Lee put in.

“No, sir. They were mixed old bills. Just put in with our cash, sir.”

“Would you be able to recognize the man who deposited them?” “Yes, sir. A very handsome young fellow, sir.”

“Please say nothing about this for the present.”

On his return to New York, Lee reported the result of his mission to Inspector Loasby, and convinced him of the necessity of keeping the discovery to themselves until they could trace the source of Hawkins’ bonus.