They had been gone fully five minutes before James Palmer rose from his chair in the corner of the balcony and looked through the open window into the empty living room.
“A clever woman, a very clever woman,” he commented aloud. Turning abruptly he stepped through the French window opening into the hall of his apartment and went in search of the Japanese, Siki.
“Go out on the balcony and put new electric bulbs in the bird-cage lanterns,” he directed. “We want to sit out there to-night after dinner.”
Not waiting for a reply he left the apartment and was just in time to catch a descending elevator. The boy had shut the elevator door when Palmer caught sight of Peter Burnham walking down the corridor, and he had but time to call out: “Sorry to miss you; Hayden’s gone,” when the elevator shot downward.
“I’ll wait for Hayden,” shouted Burnham, and a moment later was explaining his presence and desires to the attentive Japanese.
Siki ushered him into the living room with a grand flourish, then went off to execute his master’s orders with sublime disregard of Burnham’s presence.
The morning papers first engaged Burnham’s attention; the chess table added its fascination, but finally, tiring of both occupations, he wandered over to the window opening upon the balcony, a tinkle of glass having attracted his notice. He stood for some seconds looking out at the Jap sweeping up pieces of a broken electric bulb and watched him screw another in place in one of the silk-lined bird-cage lanterns.
“Siki,” he called. “Come here,” and as the Jap approached the window he drew out a twenty dollar bill.
“See here, Siki,” he began insinuatingly. “You know Captain La Montagne was in this apartment Thursday night just before the attempt was made to shoot me.”
The Jap looked first at the bill and then at Burnham, his expression inscrutable.