“Right, sir. I’ll attend to it.”
“And I’d like to have more data on Charles Cleaver,” added Markham. “Find out what you can of his relations with the Odell girl.—Also, get me a line on Doctor Ambroise Lindquist. What’s his history?—what are his habits?—you know the kind of thing. He treated the girl for some mysterious or imaginary ailment; and I think he has something up his sleeve. But don’t go near him personally—yet.”
Heath jotted the name down in his note-book, without enthusiasm.
“And before you set your stylish captive free,” put in Vance, yawning, “you might, don’t y’ know, see if he carries a key that fits the Odell apartment.”
Heath jerked up short, and grinned.
“Now, that idea’s got some sense to it. . . . Funny I didn’t think of it myself.” And shaking hands with all of us, he went out.
CHAPTER XIII.
An Erstwhile Gallant
(Wednesday, September 12; 10.30 a. m.)
Swacker was evidently waiting for an opportunity to interrupt, for, when Sergeant Heath had passed through the door, he at once stepped into the room.
“The reporters are here, sir,” he announced, with a wry face. “You said you’d see them at ten-thirty.”