“Thanks, honorable sir.” Damason bowed low. “If you want anything, please ring, sir, and I come.”
“Very well, Damason,” and the Filipino started for the door just as it opened and admitted Leonard McLane.
“It’s Leonard, Dave; I came right up,” he said, nodding to Damason as the chauffeur slipped into the hall, closing the door behind him. “What is it, old man?” laying his hand on Curtis’ shoulder to keep him in his seat. “Don’t rise. I found your urgent message about three this morning and came over as soon as I decently could and not awaken the household.” He gazed keenly at Curtis, and asked in concern: “Has anything of importance happened? You look as if you had had a night of it.”
“I had,” laconically. “Sit down, Leonard. I want your advice.”
McLane listened enthralled as Curtis rapidly told of the arrival of Frank Elliott and the latter’s claim to the one hundred thousand dollars, of the duplicate key in the safe deposit box, of his drive to Frederick in Anne’s car and finding a similar key hanging on her gold chain.
“Here is the key.” As he spoke, Curtis drew it out of his pocket and exhibited it.
“And you don’t know what this key unlocks?” asked McLane.
“No. But it must be of some importance or Anne would not carry it on her person, nor Meredith have its duplicate in a safe deposit box,” replied Curtis doggedly. “And I am commencing to believe that when we find what this key opens we will have gone a long way in solving the problem of who killed Meredith and why.”
“I agree with you,” declared McLane, with heartening vigor. “Is that all that transpired?”
“No. I was awakened early this morning by a monkey—”