“You have obliged me greatly,” he smiled, “and, of course, the transaction will be considered as strictly confidential.”  And then seeing Enright’s nod bade him a courteous “Good night.”

The attorney watched him disappear.  Suddenly he struck the table with one hand.

“By God!” he muttered, “I’ll have to see this thing a little further.”

Wheeling suddenly, he walked to a telephone booth, called a number and waited impatiently several moments before he said in intense subdued tones:  “Is this Carlton’s Cafe?  Give me Jackson, the head-waiter.  Jackson, is Mr. Cavendish—­John Cavendish—­there?  Good!  Call him to the phone will you, Jackson?  It’s important.”

CHAPTER II:  THE BODY ON THE FLOOR

The early light of dawn stealing in faintly through the spider-web of the fire-escape ladder, found a partially open window on the third floor of the Waldron apartments, and began slowly to brighten the walls of the room within.  There were no curtains on this window as upon the others, and the growing radiance streamed in revealing the whole interior.  It was a large apartment, furnished soberly and in excellent taste as either lounging-room or library, the carpet a dark green, the walls delicately tinted, bearing a few rare prints rather sombrely framed, and containing a few upholstered chairs; a massive sofa, and a library table bearing upon it a stack of magazines.

Its tenant evidently was of artistic leanings for about the room were several large bronze candle-sticks filled with partially burned tapers.  A low bookcase extended along two sides of the room, each shelf filled, and at the end of the cases a heavy imported drapery drawn slightly aside revealed the entrance to a sleeping apartment, the bed’s snowy covering unruffled.  Wealth, taste and comfort were everywhere manifest.

Yet, as the light lengthened, the surroundings evidenced disorder.  One chair lay overturned, a porcelain vase had fallen from off the table-top to the floor and scattered into fragments.  A few magazines had fallen also, and there were miscellaneous papers scattered about the carpet, one or two of them torn as though jerked open by an impatient hand.  Still others lying near the table disclosed corners charred by fire, and as an eddy of wind whisked through the window and along the floor it tumbled brown ashes along with it, at the same time diluting the faint odour of smoke that clung to the room.  Back of the table a small safe embedded in the wall stood with its door wide open, its inner drawer splintered as with a knife blade and hanging half out, and below it a riffle of papers, many of them apparently legal documents.