“And I will see you later, also the coroner, and explain my position,” Carter added. “Just now I have something else in view and must get a move on. Mum’s the word, mind you, until after the autopsy.”
He did not wait for an answer. He turned away and quickly departed, leaving his observers wondering who he was and what he had said, his instructions having been imparted in subdued and hurried whispers.
Returning to the street, Carter consulted a directory in a drug store, and five minutes later he entered the Gratton Building and approached the office of the lawyer whom the chief had mentioned. He listened at the door for a moment, hearing nothing, and then opened it and entered.
A tall, clean-cut man of thirty swung around in his swivel chair from a rolltop desk. He was of light complexion, with a smoothly shaved, attractive face, and frank blue eyes. He was alone and looked a bit curiously at his visitor, who, glancing sharply around the well-equipped office, appeared somewhat surprised, and said:
“Pardon me. Are you Mr. Paulding?”
“Yes, I am, sir.”
“I thought I saw Mr. Gaston Todd come in here a moment ago. Was I mistaken?”
“Humph!” Paulding straightened up with an expressive grunt. “Yes, sir, very much mistaken. Todd never comes here, nor would it be wise for him to do so. I would fire him out, head, neck, and heels, before he could open his mouth. You may repeat that to him, if you like and are a friend of his. I would say the same to Todd himself.”
Nick laughed, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and surveyed with quizzical eye the somewhat impulsive speaker.
“Oh, I’m no friend of Todd,” he replied. “I know him only by sight. There is a little matter, however, about which I would like to question him.”