"The attic, sir? Why, no sir. Cook and I sleep on the fourth floor, sir, but the attic isn't used, except for storage, sir. Are you going to put that in the directory too, sir?" The girl regarded him with wondering eyes.
"No, Mary. Not in the directory. But we want to be sure not to omit any names, and I thought that if there was anyone living in the attic——" he paused.
"No one, as I've told you. Nobody ever goes up there, so far as I know. Is that all, sir?"
"Yes. That's all. Thank you. Good morning."
Duvall went down the steps, and proceeded to the subway station, somewhat mystified. He had handled many curious cases in the past, many that had been notable for their intricacy, their complexity of motive and detail. But here, he felt, was a case of a very different sort, the peculiarity of which lay in its astonishing lack of clues of any sort. Usually in the past there had been motives, evidence, traces of some kind or other, upon which to build a case. Here there was nothing, except the three mysterious letters, the one equally mysterious telegram. He felt baffled, uncertain which way to turn. In rather a dissatisfied frame of mind he made his way to the telegraph office in lower Broadway. There were several clerks engaged in receiving messages. He approached one of them.
"This telegram," he said, holding out the slip of yellow paper Mrs. Morton had given him, "was sent from this office at half past eight this morning. Can you by any chance give me a description of the person who sent it?" He leaned over and addressed the clerk in a low tone. "I am a detective," he said. "The telegram is part of a blackmailing scheme."
The man looked at him for a moment, and then consulted with an older man, evidently his superior. The latter came forward.
"I received this message myself, sir," he said. "I remember it, because of its peculiar wording. What is it you wish to know?"
"I would like a description of the person who sent it," Duvall told him.
The man thought for a moment.