II
THE MARBLE HEART
"I'm going to get acquainted with the people in this case," remarked Kennedy, as he left the Wilford apartment, "and first of all it will be with Vance Shattuck."
We found that Shattuck lived in a rather sumptuous bachelor apartment farther up the Drive, to which we were admitted by his Japanese valet, who led the way into a sort of den, then disappeared to summon his master.
As we waited in the den I glanced about. It was a most attractive and fascinating place. There were innumerable curios that seemed to have been gathered from all over the world. Nor were they merely thrown together in a jumble. It was artistic, too, with a masculine art.
From the manner of the valet, though he had said nothing, I somehow gathered that Shattuck had been waiting for something or somebody. It was no longer early in the morning and I knew that he must have been neglecting his business, that is, if he really had any to neglect. I wondered why he should be doing so.
A few minutes later Shattuck himself appeared, a slim, debonair, youngish-old man, with dark hair of the sort that turns iron-gray in spots even in youth. Somehow he gave the impression of being a man of few words, of being on guard even thus early in our meeting.
"You have evidently traveled considerably," commented Kennedy, as he entered and we introduced ourselves.
"Yes, a great deal, before the war," replied Shattuck, guardedly watching.
"In Africa, I see," added Kennedy, who had been examining some striking big-game photographs that hung on a side wall.