“I was not his attorney. I had no business dealings with him. That is, none, except one — which was secret.
“He knew that I could be trusted. He told me of his possessions, and arranged that I should turn over their key to the right person.”
“His heir?”
“Presumably. But the key would be useless to you unless you possess other information.
“I have an envelope that tells specifically of a hiding place somewhere in New York. It describes a room, but finding that room would be like hunting for a needle in a haystack.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“No.”
Bob Maddox appeared puzzled. Of all his evil adventures, this was the strangest.
Here, in an apartment high above the roaring street, in the quiet sitting-room of an old attorney’s suite, he was trying to gain the clew to a mystery that savored of medieval castles and buried treasure that lay beneath moated walls.
“How then can I obtain it?” he asked.