The man was bald-headed, save for a fringe of gray above his ears; and he was dressed in a light-brown suit, cut in a youthful style that ill became his elderly appearance.
“Well, well!” exclaimed the commissioner cordially. “You’ve brought Mr. Wilhelm with you as you promised, eh?”
“Yes,” said Biscayne. “My cousin was anxious to join us here. He has been quite concerned over the death of Silas Harshaw.”
“Terrible tragedy, commissioner,” Wilhelm was saying, as he shook hands. “Terrible, sir, terrible. Think of the man — murdered!
“Of course, Roger has told you that I was financing his work. A genius, that man — but a bit eccentric. Too bad he’s gone. Too bad! Couldn’t find anything about his invention, could you, Roger?”
It was evident that Arthur Wilhelm mourned the loss of the remote-control machine as well as the death of Silas Harshaw.
The few thousands that the millionaire soap manufacturer had invested was a paltry sum to him, but he had counted upon them producing many times their value.
“No news, Arthur,” declared Biscayne. “But when Detective Cardona arrives, we may hear something. You say he has obtained results, commissioner?”
“So he has stated,” replied Weston. “He has been investigating all day, and will be here, soon.”
“A detective, eh?” queried Wilhelm, resting back in his chair. “There isn’t a one can come up to Roger here, commissioner.