Part 14 (1/2)

It was Sat.u.r.day morning, and Marsh, on his way back from breakfast at the little waffle shop, purchased a copy of the Tribune and went back to his apartment to look over the day's news. No sooner had he opened the paper than this headline met his eyes:

PROMINENT BROKER MISSING

Marsh dropped the paper on his knees and thought for a moment. Ever since Tuesday morning, when the trouble had occurred, he had carefully scanned the papers for reports of any missing people who might in any way be connected with this occurrence. Here at last was an announcement that looked promising. He began to read the article.

Richard Townsend Merton, the well known La Salle Street broker, has been missing far ten days, it was learned yesterday. Gilbert Hunt, the general manager of the Merton business, notified the police that Mr. Merton had not appeared at his office, his clubs, or his hotel for some days. A telegraphed inquiry to his wife, who resides with an invalid son in Arizona, brought the reply that Mr. Merton had not been there. The manager is inclined to believe that Mr. Merton has either wandered away during a lapse of memory, or may have met with an accident.

The article then continued with the usual outline of what the police were doing, and a description of the broker's life and habits. Marsh learned from this that Merton had closed his country home in Hubbard Woods when his wife moved to Arizona with their son. He had lived for the past two years at a downtown hotel, and spent most of his evenings at his clubs.

After reading the entire article carefully, Marsh cut out the accompanying photographs of Merton and the absent wife and son. Here was something worth investigating, he thought, for he remembered the cuff b.u.t.ton with the initial ”M,” which Morgan had discovered.

For upwards of an hour Marsh sat in deep deliberation, figuring how he could get in close touch with the situation without in any way disclosing his official connection or real interest in the matter.

At last he decided to follow a plan which he had used successfully in connection with two previous cases. He looked up the address of the Merton offices, and putting on his coat and hat, took the Sheridan Road motor bus downtown.

Marsh located the Merton offices on the fifteenth floor of the La Salle Trust Building, and paused a moment inside the door to look the place over. He found himself in a large room which contained several stenographers and clerks. To his left was a grill work with a window marked, ”Cas.h.i.+er,” and beyond this, several men who were evidently bookkeepers. In front of him was a railing, behind which sat a girl at a telephone switchboard. At the other side of the room, floors opened into what were evidently three private offices.

On the first door he saw the name, Mr. Merton; on the second, Mr.

Hunt. The third door was blank.

Approaching the girl, Marsh inquired if Mr. Hunt was in.

”Yes,” she replied, looking him over. ”Have you a card?”

Marsh handed her a card and she went into Mr. Hunt's office. In a moment she returned and said, ”Please step in.”

Marsh entered Hunt's office and closed the door behind him. It was the usual private office, with a large flat top desk in the center.

This was so arranged that Hunt's back was to the light, which fell full upon any visitor's face. Some files, a bookcase, and a small table littered with papers, stood against the wall. Hunt motioned to a chair and said, ”Sit down, please.” Marsh's card lay before him on the desk. He picked it up and read:

GORDON MARSH Private Investigator

Then looking at Marsh as he laid the card down, he said, ”what can I do for you?”

”As you see by my card,” replied Marsh, ”my business consists of conducting special private investigations. I read in the morning paper that Mr. Merton is missing, and I came in to see if you would care to use my services.”

”I have placed the entire matter in the hands of the police,”

returned Hunt.

”You probably know, as well as I do, Mr. Hunt, that that is the next thing to burying the matter. They will be very busy for a couple of days and then forget it.”

”That is about what I thought, Mr. Marsh,” admitted Hunt.

”But isn't it important, for business reasons, that you ascertain definitely, and as quickly as possible, just what has happened to Mr. Merton?” Marsh asked.

”To a certain extent, yes. But Mr. Merton has left the business entirely in my hands for some time, and things will continue satisfactorily in his absence.”

”Then I presume you wouldn't care to have me conduct a private investigation on your behalf, Mr. Hunt?”

”Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Marsh,” said Hunt. ”Until you presented your card to me this morning, the thought of doing anything beside notifying the police had not occurred to me. Let me think for a minute.”