Part 27 (1/2)
”Not more than half an hour at the most--and maybe not half that,”
responded the big brother.
Sam dropped behind and d.i.c.k entered the dingy office building. From the directory on the wall the oldest Rover boy learned that the brokers were located on the fourth floor, rooms 408 to 412,--the numerals really meaning offices 8 to 12 on floor 4. He got into one of the narrow elevators and soon reached the fourth floor.
The offices of Pelter, j.a.pson & Company were located in the rear, overlooking the roof of a restaurant on the street beyond. d.i.c.k entered a tiny waiting room and an office boy came to ask what he wanted.
”I wish to see Mr. Pelter,” said d.i.c.k.
”Not in yet.”
”When do you expect him?”
”Ought to be here now.”
”Then I'll wait,” and d.i.c.k dropped on a chair. He had hardly done so when the door opened and a burly individual hurried in. He gave d.i.c.k an inquiring look.
”Wants to see you, Mr. Pelter,” said the office boy. ”Just came in.”
”Want to see me? What is it?” and the head of the brokerage firm stepped up to d.i.c.k.
”You are Mr. Pelter?”
”Yes.”
”I am Richard Rover--Anderson Rover's son.”
”Ah! indeed!” cried Jesse Pelter, and gave a slight start. ”Glad to meet you, Mr. Rover,” and he held out his hand. ”Will you--er--step into my office?”
He led the way through two offices to one in the extreme rear. This was well furnished, with a desk, a table, several chairs and a bookcase filled with legal-looking volumes. In one corner was a telephone booth, and a telephone connection also rested on the desk.
”I came to see about my father,” said d.i.c.k, as he sat down in a chair to which the broker motioned.
”You mean, about your father's business, I suppose.”
”No, about my father. Do you know where he is, Mr. Pelter?”
”Know where he is? What do you mean? Isn't he in New York?” The broker pretended to arrange some papers on his desk as he spoke and did not look at d.i.c.k.
”He has disappeared and I thought you might know something about it.”
d.i.c.k looked the man full in the face. He saw the broker start and then try to control himself.
”Well that--er--accounts for it,” said Jesse Pelter, slowly, as if trying to make up his mind what to say.
”Accounts for what?”
”Why, he didn't come back here as he said he would.”