THERE was a ringing challenge in Hasbrouck’s voice. It seemed as though the detective was offering a last chance to Glendenning, giving the old man an opportunity to reveal whatever he might know.
There was no response from Glendenning. He merely stared. Hasbrouck shot a glance toward Larkin. The secretary’s face was immobile.
“This interview,” said Hasbrouck, “may be our last meeting, Mr. Glendenning.”
“It will be our last,” replied the old man coldly.
Hasbrouck did not like the tone. His gaze wandered slowly about the room. He took in its simple furnishings. He meditated for a moment, and the howling of the wind disturbed his thoughts. It reminded him of the menace he had felt when he stood outside the house.
“Our last interview,” he said quietly. “Very well, Mr. Glendenning. That brings me squarely to the point at issue. It concerns your niece — Miss Margaret Glendenning.”
“Well?” asked the old man querulously.
“She was engaged to Robert Buchanan,” said Hasbrouck. “Therefore, she might furnish a clew. I should like to speak with her.”
“There is no reason for that,” declared Glendenning emphatically.
“I disagree with you!” retorted Hasbrouck.
The old man glowered. He looked fiercely toward the detective; then turned suddenly to Larkin.
“Call Miss Margaret,” he ordered. “Tell her I would like to speak to her. We shall end this matter now!”
Hasbrouck smiled as the secretary left. He had won his point. On his previous visits, Glendenning had refused to let him meet the girl. Now the wish had been granted.
Neither man spoke during the interim of waiting. The silence troubled Hasbrouck. Why had Clinton Glendenning suddenly capitulated?
It was obvious that the old man did not wish to give out any information upon the subject of Robert Buchanan. Margaret Glendenning was the important key. From her, Hasbrouck might expect statements which her uncle would not make.
But another thought disturbed the detective’s mind. Had Margaret Glendenning been schooled for this pending interview? If so, her remarks would be of little value. Suppose she did talk — what then? It would antagonize the old man toward Hasbrouck.
The detective pondered as he considered such a situation. Were his fears forebodings? Would Clinton Glendenning use some method to thwart him, if he learned facts that the old man did not want him to know?
The arrival of Margaret Glendenning put an end to these thoughts. The girl entered the room, accompanied by Larkin.
She was remarkably beautiful, but the black lounging pajamas that she wore gave an added pallor to her white features. The girl stared directly at the visitor, and Hasbrouck noticed a sad look in her brown eyes.
“What do you wish to know?” the girl inquired, without waiting for the formality of an introduction.
Hasbrouck had risen from his chair. He sat down as Margaret Glendenning took a seat opposite him. He responded immediately to her question.
“I should like to know anything that you know concerning Robert Buchanan,” said the detective. “Anything that might help me in my efforts to locate him.”
“I do not know where he is.”
The girl’s voice was level — each word uttered in a hushed, solemn tone.
“You have not heard from him since the last night he was here?” Hasbrouck questioned further.
“Not a word,” answered the girl, with a far-away look.
“He said nothing that might give you an idea where he has gone?”
“Nothing at all,” declared Margaret solemnly. “He” — a slight expression of fearfulness appeared in her eyes, as she looked toward her uncle — “he said nothing of his plans.”
“And you were engaged to him?” asked Hasbrouck quietly.
“Yes,” answered Margaret, “but that is ended now.”
“Why?”
“My uncle disapproved. He said that in his opinion I was too young to marry. I am not yet twenty-one. But” — her eyes turned again toward Glendenning — “he did not interfere. After Robert went away, without a word, I decided that Uncle Clinton must be right. That is all.”
“Do you know Jerry Middleton?” inquired Hasbrouck.
“No,” replied the girl. “I have heard Robert speak of him. They were friends. But I did not know Mr. Middleton.”
WHILE Don Hasbrouck was considering another question, Margaret Glendenning arose abruptly and walked from the room. The sudden action perplexed the detective. Hasbrouck turned to speak to Glendenning.
“Regarding Middleton,” he said, “I might mention that the man is wealthy, and a very good friend of Buchanan’s. When I tell Middleton, this evening, that his friend has disappeared, he will leave nothing to chance in conducting a thorough search.
“I have been employed by Buchanan’s relations. I am working on this case alone. I have assembled some data, and all my previous findings have been recorded. I shall include my interviews with you and Miss Glendenning in the report that I expect to make.”
“I hope that your notes may prove illuminating,” said the old man. “I also trust that you will find your interview with Middleton a productive one. But in view of the man’s tendency to go and come as he pleases, you should not count too much upon finding him tonight!”
With this statement, Glendenning used a tone of finality. He raised himself from his chair, moved abruptly to a corner of the room, and passed through a door that evidently led to his bedroom. Hasbrouck was alone with Larkin.
The peculiar emphasis of Glendenning’s parting words brought a new feeling of insecurity to the detective. He stared at the chair that the old man had vacated.
Why had Glendenning left so abruptly?
Hasbrouck glanced at Larkin. He wanted to quiz the secretary, but he feared that the old man might be listening.
With a shrug of his shoulders, Don Hasbrouck arose from his chair and walked toward the door. Larkin went before him. In the hallway, the detective felt more uneasy.
He had interviewed Clinton Glendenning in the past, and each time this man Larkin had been a silent witness. What did the fellow know about the secret? Could he explain the reluctance that both Glendenning and his niece had shown?
Hasbrouck knew that he would have to search for information elsewhere. He had mentioned the name of Jerry Middleton, hoping that it might bring results. And it had failed.
But Jerry Middleton himself would not fail when the detective met him tonight. Hasbrouck knew where Middleton would be. He intended to go directly to that place.
In the dim light of the lower hall, Hasbrouck found himself once more fighting the sense of impending danger — of some unknown peril that lurked in that house. Foolish, he knew, for in a moment he would be out.
Larkin, here, was certainly no menace. Neither was Clinton Glendenning, for that matter.
He stifled a contemptuous laugh. How ridiculous! Here, in a house inhabited only by an old man, a pasty-faced weakling, and a girl, Don Hasbrouck was worried! He looked at Larkin as he donned his coat. The secretary bowed a silent good night.
Hasbrouck, standing by the velvet curtain, watched the young man go upstairs. He was left alone, to leave the house at his leisure. It was another sign of the abruptness that all the occupants of this residence displayed.
He sensed that Larkin wanted to avoid any chance for an interview. Hasbrouck shrugged. He could not blame the secretary. The fellow had to do old Glendenning’s bidding. He could take no chances with his job.
AS Larkin’s footsteps echoed at the top of the stairway, Hasbrouck pulled a card from his pocket and glanced at a written address which told his next destination; the place where he would find Jerry Middleton.