THEY reached Philip Farmington’s home. Cardona had a key to the office where the banker had died.
The men entered. Blake examined the chair in which Farmington had been seated. Cardona smiled.
“We went all over that,” he said. “No poisoned needles. Not a clew here, old fellow. But I thought you’d like to look at these papers.”
Terry Blake examined some documents that had belonged to Philip Farmington. Finally, he laid them aside and sat in the chair before the desk.
“Farmington was sitting here?” he asked.
“Yes.” Cardona took the chair he had occupied on that other occasion. “I was over here, talking to him.”
“What did he do?”
“Very little. Offered me a cigar, when he came in. From that box on the desk.”
“Good. I’ll be Farmington. Have one.”
Cardona accepted the perfecto with a smile. Blake began to take one for himself.