“There is nothing to report at present, Mr. Ashleigh,” he announced.
“Dear me,” the Professor murmured, “this is very disappointing. Is there no clue, Mr. Quest—no clue at all?”
“Not the ghost of one,” Quest acknowledged. “I am as far from solving the mystery of the disappearance of your skeleton and Mrs. Rheinholdt’s necklace, as I have ever been.”
The Professor failed entirely to conceal his disappointment. His tone, in fact, was almost peevish.
“I should have expected this from the regular officials of the law, Mr. Quest,” he admitted, “but I must say that in your hands I had hoped—but there, there! Excuse me! I am an old man, Mr. Quest. I am getting a little irritable. Disappointments affect me quickly. I must be patient. I will be patient.”
“There are certain evidences,” Quest remarked, with his eyes upon the black box, “which seem to point to a new arrival in the criminal world of New York. More than that I cannot tell you. I will simply ask you to believe that I am doing my best.”
“And with that, Mr. Quest, I will be content,” the Professor promised. “I will now pay my promised call upon Mrs. Rheinholdt. I shall convey to her your assurance that everything that is possible is being done. Good morning, young ladies,” he concluded. “Good morning, Mr. Quest.”
He took a courteous leave of them all and departed. Lenora crossed the room to where Quest was seated at the table.
“Mr. Quest,” she asked, “do you believe in inspiration?”
“I attribute a large amount of my success,” Quest replied, “to my profound belief in it.”