It told me nothing.
Silas T. Roxberry had done a lot of financing, putting money in various business activities, some of which he controlled, some of which were simply outlets for funds which he held for business investment. He had died in 1937, leaving two children, a son named Roy aged fifteen, a daughter named Edna aged nineteen. Because his affairs had been considerably complicated and a distribution of the estate might have resulted in a shrinkage of assets, it had been decided to assign the rights of the heirs to a corporation known as Roxberry Estates and a decree of distribution had been made to the corporation, the heirs taking stock in that corporation to the extent of their interests.
Howard C. Craig had been Roxberry’s confidential bookkeeper, had been employed by him for nearly seven years. The Roxberry Estates Corporation employed Craig as its secretary and treasurer. After Craig’s death, a man named Sells had taken Craig’s place. An attorney by the name of Biswill had handled the estate and had become general manager of the corporation. He was carrying on the business in just about the same way that Silas Roxberry had. Because it was a closed corporation, it was impossible to learn anything about the degree of success with which the business was being administered, but Bertha Cool had secured a commercial report to the effect that the business was solvent, prompt in paying its bills, although it was rumored it had, of late, made some poor investments.
It was, of course, possible that Edna Roxberry was Edna Cutler. I picked up the telephone, got the Roxberry Estates on the phone, said I was a friend of the family who had been away for several years, and asked if Edna Roxberry was married. I was told she hadn’t married as yet and I would find her name in the telephone book. The party at the other end of the line wanted to know who was talking, and I hung up.
At ten o’clock Bertha still hadn’t showed up.
I told Elsie I was going out, and went over to the offices of the Roxberry Estates.
It was possible to tell the whole story in the lettering on the doors of the offices. Originally Harman C. Biswill had had a string of offices. Silas Roxberry had been one of his main clients. With Roxberry’s death, Biswill had moved in on the estate. Having sold the heirs on the idea of making distribution to a corporation, he had become the manager of the corporation. Now, the signs on the doors read, Harman C. Biswill, Attorney at Law. Private. Entrance 619, and on 619 appeared Roxberry Estates, Inc. Entrance. Down below in the left-hand corner was Harman C. Biswill, Attorney at Law. Entrance. The lettering on the door of the private office looked rather faded. It had been Biswill’s old private office, and he hadn’t changed the sign. As he’d gradually abandoned the general practice of law for the more profitable gravy of the estate corporation, he’d changed the sign on the entrance room.
It didn’t take a first-class detective to tell that Harman C. Biswill had cut himself a very nice slice of cake.
I opened the entrance door and walked in.
Biswill had gone hog wild on office machinery. There were bookkeeping machines, typewriters, dictating machines, adding machines, billing machines, addressing machines scattered around the office. An elderly woman was punching an adding machine. A girl was pounding out correspondence on a typewriter, the earpieces of a transcribing machine dangling from her ears.