I had no difficulty with the records. In less than an hour I traced out the owners, “an estate,” and had located the agent. It just so happened that he was a man with whom I had some acquaintance. We were not long in coming to business.
“The house at No. 288 Chatterton Place?”
I noticed that he was startled; there was a bit of wonder in his look—a quizzical alertness. He motioned me to a chair and closed the door.
“Sit down, Mr. Wendel; sit down. H-m! The house at No. 288 Chatterton Place? Did I hear you right?”
Again I noted the wonder; his manner was cautious and curious. I nodded.
“Want to buy it or just lease it? Pardon me, but you are sort of a friend. I would not like to lose your friendship for the sake of a mere sale. What is your—”
“Just for a residence,” I insisted. “A place to live in.”
“I see. Know anything about this place?”
“Do you?”
He fumbled with some papers. For an agent he did not strike me as being very solicitous for a commission.