“That is all,” said Clinton Glendenning coldly. “I bid you good night!”
He rose from his chair and left the room, leaving Harry alone with Larkin. The interview was over, but Harry knew that he had gained by it.
He knew that a detective named Don Hasbrouck had visited Clinton Glendenning as recently as two nights ago. He knew that Hasbrouck had intended to communicate with a man named Jerry Middleton. Both items were valuable as information.
Accompanied by Larkin, Harry went downstairs. He felt a distaste for this gloomy old house. He donned his hat and coat, and while he was standing in the hallway, Larkin went up to the second floor, leaving the visitor to find his own way out.
Harry’s sleeve brushed against something; he turned quickly and stared suspiciously at a velvet curtain beside him. Acting upon impulse, he raised the curtain and stared into the blackness of the room beyond.
Then he laughed at his own suspicion of danger. He dropped the curtain.
Opening the door, Harry stepped forth into the night. There was no cab in sight, so he began a walk toward the corner.
Ordinarily, Vincent would have been very much alert. Before he had entered the house, he had been suspicious of his surroundings. Now, his thoughts were so occupied with the facts he had learned that he paid no attention to anything near by.
But before Harry had gone a dozen paces, there was a movement on the opposite side of the street. A man was lurking on the other sidewalk, keeping pace with Harry’s stride. When Harry reached the corner, he crossed the street to hail a cab.
It brought him close to the corner of a darkened building. The man who was following stood silent, sheltered by the corner. Harry never looked in his direction.