Wise set to work, and went swiftly over the house, from room to room. He found nothing that gave him any clue to North’s disappearance nor anything that gave him much information as to North’s private life.
Even an examination of the letters and notes in the small desk showed only some bills, some invitations, some circulars, that meant nothing to the detective.
He noted some memoranda in Lawrence North’s handwriting and saw that it corresponded with the note left for him.
Sheriff Potter came in while he was there, but the conversation between the two men was of little interest to either.
It was all so hopeless, it seemed to Wise,—and, so blankly mysterious it seemed to Potter.
Claire Blackwood came over from her home, and Wise turned to her as to a friend.
“Do tell me something about this man, North, Mrs Blackwood,” he said. “Have you known him long?”
“Only through this summer,” she replied. “He’s a New Yorker, but I don’t know much else about him.”
“What’s his business?”
“I’m not sure, but I think he’s a real estate man. He’s spending two months here, and he rented this bungalow furnished. You see, Mr Wise, the people of this colony are a sort of lawless, happy-go-lucky set. I mean if we like any one, we don’t bother to inquire into their antecedents or their social standing.”