The house seemed to be furnished throughout, and yet there seemed an air of desertion and loneliness about it, as though it lacked the daily care of a housekeeper—little things seemed to be lacking that would indicate the fact of its being a habitation that was occupied—where human beings lived and moved.
Somehow this fact impressed itself on the detective’s mind.
He did not have much time for thought, as action was necessary.
When the brave soldier finds himself face to face with the enemy, he does not spend the minutes in reflection, but acts.
So with Eric—he had looked forward to this period for quite a time, and now that it had arrived, he was not the one to tarry.
Where was Joe?
As nearly as he could place them the sounds had come from the front room.
He crept silently along in that direction—the door was open, and nothing prevented his seeing the interior of the apartment.
It was furnished, but did not contain a single occupant—light crept through the inside blinds, sufficient to show him this fact, and his wonder was simply increased to a fever heat.
In the name of heaven, what did all this strange mystery mean—where was Joe—what freak induced him to come here, and—