"No," was the reply. "But after he'd gone, I found a Long Island Railroad time-table on my desk. Evidently he had left it behind—forgotten it in his haste."
After some further questioning, I went away. At noon, I met McGinity, having promised the night before to join him at lunch, in town, and submit all the evidence I had collected about the water-mark in the scroll. The restaurant was one of his own choosing, a cheerful but obscure eating-place in the Times Square section, noted for its home-cooking and excellent beer, and largely patronized by newspaper reporters working in that district.
The reporter listened to my story with signs of ever increasing interest, as we sat together in a dining nook, and when it came to an end, he exclaimed: "'Middle-aged—well-dressed—well bred!' You see? Olinski! without a doubt."
"No, I don't see it at all," I answered. "The old bookseller's vague description of the man who gave him the order for the scroll, in my opinion, doesn't fit Olinski. True, there's evidence that the man left hurriedly for an important engagement at Radio Center, and later, to catch a train on the Long Island Railroad, but that proves nothing against Olinski. Why should he rush off to keep an appointment in Radio Center, when he spends most of his time in his laboratory there? Besides, he's perfectly familiar with the time schedules of the railroad, so far as Sands Cliff is concerned."
"Then, if it wasn't Olinski, it must have been his accomplice," McGinity persisted. "There's more than one person mixed up in this."
"Undoubtedly you're right," I concurred. "But it would be just as easy and logical to suspect Prince Matani. Personally, I would suspect the Prince of doing anything, short of murder, for money. He's been trying to force Henry's hand for some time, in regard to Pat, and failing, this may have been his revenge. But acting only as a paid agent for a superior intellect, who put the thing over in a much bigger way, perhaps, than the Prince had anticipated."
"If this is true, then it will account for the Prince falling in a fit the first time he set eyes on Mr. Zzyx," the reporter suggested. "He expected to find a small baboon, and he finds a monster. Then, he vanishes. Very odd that he should go off to California—disappear like that."
"You've taken the words right out of my mouth," I rejoined, with a benign smile. "However, as matters are now shaping themselves, it's my opinion that any suspicions we may have regarding either Olinski or the Prince are coming to a quick end. We might as well attach suspicion to Mamie Sparks, our colored laundress."
"Well, at any rate, Mr. Royce," said McGinity, "one thing is pretty well established in my mind, and that is—if the perpetrator of this gigantic fraud isn't a lunatic, he's certainly been carried away by some strange fanatical motive."
"The facts of the case are all very strange, and very puzzling," I observed. "I have been reflecting on the matter for the last hour or so, since leaving the old bookseller, and I'm beginning to feel that we're up against a pretty difficult task—perhaps an impossible one."