“Good,” answered Blefken. “If you want, you can come in and meet my friends. It might do you good to chat a while; then we can talk later.”
“I’d rather talk now—”
“Very well. Sit here and rest.”
The lawyer opened the door and stepped into the hall. He closed the door behind him. It was an ideal arrangement.
Under any other circumstances, it would have been unwise for Blefken to leave Middleton alone. But with so capable a person as Joe Cardona for a hidden observer, matters could not be better.
The detective smiled at the caginess of Blefken’s action. He watched Middleton with alert eyes.
FOR a few minutes, Jerry Middleton did not stir. Then he groaned and sat bolt upright in his chair. He stared straight ahead as though trying to place his surroundings. Then he laughed — softly but nervously. He arose, and Cardona slipped back into his hiding place.
Middleton paced up and down the room, mumbling to himself, but Cardona could make nothing of his words. At length the young man said something that sounded like: “He ought to be back by now.”
With that, Cardona heard him go to the door and open it. The detective was on the point of emerging from behind the chair when he heard Middleton again pacing the room. At times the pacing ceased, and even the man’s breathing was soundless.
One of these pauses occurred. A full minute went by. Cardona moved upward. The room was empty. The half-opened door showed where Middleton had gone. Probably in search of Charles Blefken.