“We’ll not wait for the police,” Mr. Parker said, starting up the walk.
His knock at the door went unanswered. Even when the editor pounded with his fist, no one came to admit him.
“Someone is inside,” Penny declared, peering up at the lighted window. “It must be Blake.”
Mr. Parker tried the door and finding it unlocked, stepped boldly into the living room.
“Blake!” he shouted.
On the floor above Mr. Parker and Penny heard the soft pad of slippered feet. The real estate man, garbed in a black silk dressing gown, gazed down over the balustrade.
“Who is there?” he called.
“Anthony Parker from the Star. I want to talk with you.”
Slowly Clyde Blake descended the stairway. His gait was stiff and deliberate.
“You seem to have injured your leg,” Mr. Parker said significantly.