But I remembered my first intention and made my way back to the Whistler Studios.  Anyhow, I reflected, Werner would hardly have summoned a car from a place so near his home had he wished to keep his trip a secret.  It was more important for me to gain access to his quarters.  There it was quite possible I might find something valuable.  I wondered if I would be justified in breaking in, or if I would succeed if I attempted it.

Things proved easier than I expected.  My first visit unquestionably had prepared the way.  The hallboy took me up in the elevator himself without telephoning, took me to Werner’s door, rang the bell, and spoke to the colored valet who opened it.  As I grasped the presence of the servant in the little suite I was glad I had not tried my hand at forcing an entrance.  I had quite anticipated an empty apartment.

The darky, pleasant voiced, polite, and well trained, bowed me into a little den and proceeded to lay out a large box of cigarettes on the table beside me, as well as a humidor well filled with cigars of good quality.  I took one of the latter, accepting a light and glancing about.

Certainly this was in contrast with Manton’s apartment.  There was nothing garish, ornate, or spectacular here.  Richly, lavishly furnished, everything was in perfect taste, revealing the hand of an artist.  It might have been a bit bizarre, reflecting the nervous temperament of its owner.  Even the servant showed the touch of his master, hovering about to make sure I was comfortable, even to bringing a stack of the latest magazines.  I hope he didn’t sense my thoughts, for I cursed him inwardly.  I wanted to be alone.  Ordinarily I would have enjoyed this, but now I had become a detective, and it was necessary to rummage about, and quickly.

The sudden ringing of the telephone took the valet out into the tiny hall of the suite and gave me the opportunity I wished.

Phelps apparently was calling up to leave some message for Werner, which I could not get, as the valet took it.  What, I wondered, was Phelps telephoning here for?  Why not at the studio?  It looked strange.

I lost no time in speculation over that, however.  The moment I was left to myself I jumped up and rushed to a writing desk, a carved antique which had caught my eye upon my entrance, which I had studied from my place in the easy chair.  It was unlocked, and I opened it without compunction.  With an alert ear, to warn me the moment the colored boy hung up, I first gazed rather helplessly at a huge pile of literary litter.  Clearly there was no time to go through all of that.

I gave the papers a cursory inspection, without disturbing them, hoping to catch some name or something which might prove to be a random clue, but I was less lucky than Kennedy had been in his casual look at Manton’s desk the afternoon before.  Still able to hear the valet at the telephone, I reached down and opened the top drawer of the desk.  Here perhaps I might be more fortunate.  One glance and my heart gave a startled leap.