Puffing away at his pipe, Bernard began to smile. Landis had long since won his rather difficult approval. He admired the boy for sacrificing an excellent social position in order to serve society—a society more and more closely beleaguered by the criminal element—in a practical way. He was clever and not too conceited; just lacked experience. When he had that, he would make a name for himself!
Reverting to their conversation just past, Bernard started a trifle and uttered a faint snort.
After a while he heard Landis in the hall calling Elsa. Then the young man appeared in the doorway, an expression of awe on his misleadingly frank countenance.
“Headquarters it was, sir! I’ve got to go. Wow, what a case!”
“All wasted!” snapped Bernard. “You knew the call was coming! Think you can fox me?”
Landis burst out laughing. “Not this call, sir! Mason Rees Harrison—Harrison, the sugar king—was murdered tonight in his own library! It happened at seven-thirty, about the time we sat down to dinner. Somebody out there telephoned Headquarters. The Chief gave me the good word and I’m deputized. My papers are waiting—commission to the case from the local prosecutor!”
“Suppose you can deputize anybody you like?” asked Bernard suspiciously.
“That’s the usual courtesy, I believe.” Landis contrived a tone of silken preoccupation. “On the other hand,” he added suddenly, “no doubt the Chief gave me the job because he knew you’d help. He knows I’m here, you see.”
“Young fox!” Bernard growled.
“My hat! Why the harsh words?”