Conrad paused to read the name-plates on the door, then dug his finger in the second bell, opened the front door and walked briskly across the hall and up the stairs, followed by Bardin.
They stopped outside the front door on the second-floor landing, and Conrad knocked. They waited a few moments, then as no one answered the door, Conrad knocked again.
“Looks as if no one’s at home,” he said, frowning, after another minute’s wait. “Damn it! Now what are we going to do?”
“Come back later,” Bardin said philosophically. “I would have been surprised if anyone was in on a morning like this.”
They walked down the stairs together.
“Maybe the guy at the window knows where she’s gone,” Conrad said as he reached the hall. “From the way he was peeping at us, he shouldn’t miss much.”
“What’s the excitement?” Bardin said. “We’ll come back this afternoon.”
Conrad was already knocking on the front door to the right of the main entrance. There was a longish delay, then the door opened and a tall, bent old man in a tight-fitting black suit regarded them with big, watery blue eyes.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I’m Paul Conrad of the District Attorney’s office, and this is Lieutenant Bardin, City Police,” Conrad said. “We have business with the people in the second-floor apartment. They seem to be out. You wouldn’t know when they will be back?”