“Yes. Vernon had just returned from a short business trip to Sacramento, and he...” Miss Kantor colored again, a near-scarlet blush this time. “He invited me to his house... well, actually it’s a charming little cottage... for a homecoming celebration, you see.”
“Homecoming celebration.” A euphemism if Sabina had ever heard one, not that Miss Kantor’s love life was any concern of hers. She asked, “What happened exactly?”
“A man was just leaving the cottage, a fat little bald-headed man Vernon had never seen before. Through the front door, bold as you please.”
“A thief?”
“No, and that is what’s so odd about it. Vernon was so angry I thought he was going to strike the man. He literally dragged him inside his study to see if his desk had been broken into, but it hadn’t. Vernon searched him anyway. The man hadn’t stolen a single thing.”
“What was his explanation for having illegally entered the house?”
“He claimed he hadn’t entered it, that it only looked from the street as if he were coming out. He swore he was a salesman, and I must say he was very convincing.”
“Was the door to the house locked?”
“It was. But he had a ring of keys and Vernon found one that unlocked his door. The man claimed that that was just a fluke, that the key wasn’t a... what did he call it...”
“Skeleton key?”
“Yes. It wasn’t a skeleton key, he said. Vernon didn’t believe him, and he certainly could have been inside, but for what reason?”
Sabina could think of at least two, but she didn’t voice them just yet. “What did he claim to be selling?”
Miss Kantor opened her beaded handbag and produced a business card, which she handed to Sabina. It was a rather ornate card made of heavy white vellum, with curlicue borders and embossed lettering.
“Vernon has never heard of the Excelsior Home Improvement Company,” Miss Kantor said, “and neither have I. There is no listing for it in the City Directory.”
Sabina said, “It’s unfamiliar to me, too. What sort of business did Oscar Follensbee claim it to be?”
“A newly formed one that refurbishes older homes for nominal fees. Vernon’s cottage was built in the 1870s, you see. He inherited it from his parents.”
“Is it in need of refurbishing?”
“Well... to some extent, I suppose.” The young woman added defensively, “Vernon is very frugal, you see. He doesn’t believe in spending money on what he calls nonessentials.”
Sabina asked, “When did this incident happen?”
“Sunday afternoon.”
“What did Mr. Purifoy do after he determined nothing had been stolen?”
“He let the man go. What else could he have done?”
“Held him and sent for the police.”
“Vernon said there was no point in it since nothing was missing, that they would just view it as a misunderstanding.”
“Not necessarily,” Sabina said. “Not if Oscar Follensbee has a police record for burglary or illegal trespass.”
Miss Kantor nibbled at her lower lip. “But if he is a criminal, why hadn’t he stolen anything?”
“Perhaps he didn’t have time. He may have just entered and seen you and Mr. Purifoy arriving. Or he could have been doing what is known in underworld parlance as ‘casing the premises’ to determine if there was anything of value worth taking at a later time.”
“Yes, I see what you mean. If the man is a criminal, he may still be a danger.”
“Does Mr. Purifoy keep money or other valuables in his desk?”
“I don’t know. If he does, it must be just a little money. He lives very, um, frugally.”
“That being the case, Miss Kantor, why did he change his mind?”
“Change his mind? I don’t understand.”
“You said he let Oscar Follensbee go without summoning the police because nothing had been stolen. Why does he now want the matter investigated?”
“Oh, he doesn’t. I mean, he doesn’t know. Coming here was my idea, you see.”
And it had taken her two days to work up the courage to do so. Sabina chastised herself for not suspecting this sooner. She’d been too eager at the prospect of a new case, not that that was a valid excuse. She suppressed a sigh. “I wish you had told me that when you first arrived, Miss Kantor. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“But... but why not? Surely you can find out who this man Follensbee is—”
“Possibly. But that isn’t the reason I can’t help you.”
Miss Kantor looked as though she might burst into tears. One hand fumbled in her bag, came out with a thin sheaf of greenbacks. “This is all the money I have saved, fifty dollars, I thought it would be enough—”
Sabina said gently, “It isn’t a matter of finance, but one of legal and professional ethics. We are unable to conduct investigations for private individuals other than the person directly involved or one acting as that person’s representative.”
“But I am acting on Vernon’s behalf—”
“Yes, but without his knowledge or consent.”
“You... you mean he has to be the one to hire you?”
“Yes. In person or by signed letter.”
Two large tears squeezed out of the misty hazel eyes. “He won’t agree to that, I know he won’t. He j-just wants to let the matter drop.”
Sabina let a sigh come out this time. “I’m sorry, Miss Kantor. Without Mr. Purifoy’s authorization, there is nothing I can do.”
It was not until Gretchen Kantor had made a dejected exit that Sabina, feeling somewhat dejected herself, noticed that Oscar Follensbee’s business card was still on her desk blotter. She looked at it again, then picked it up. There was something vaguely familiar about it — not the wording; possibly the design. But she couldn’t quite place what it was.
Well, no matter. She slid the card into her desk drawer, on the unlikely chance that Miss Kantor could convince the frugal Mr. Purifoy to change his mind, and promptly forgot about it.
She would soon have forgotten the entire matter if it hadn’t been jarred back into the forefront of her mind on Wednesday morning. It was Mr. Vernon Purifoy himself who did the jarring.
He strutted into the agency not long after her arrival, stood for a moment looking around, then fixed her with an unfriendly eye and announced himself. Gretchen Kantor may have considered him handsome, but Sabina silently begged to differ. He was some four inches shy of six feet, slender in an underfed way — his dapper black broadcloth suit made him look hipless — and the owner of a mustache that spanned his upper lip in a thin, curving line and quivered now with indignation. A large but ordinary signet ring adorned the third finger of his right hand. The polished hickory walking stick he carried was an affectation, she judged, not a necessity.
“You are Mrs. Carpenter, I presume,” he said. His voice was surprisingly deep for a man of his stature.
“You presume correctly.”
“I have come to verify that you have no intention of investigating the incident at my home on Sunday.”
“Not without your contractual permission, no.”
“Which I emphatically do not give. It was a minor misunderstanding best left forgotten, as I thought I had made clear to Miss Kantor. The silly woman had no right to discuss it with you or anyone else.”
“Silly woman.” Evidently Purifoy did not share the young woman’s romantic infatuation. He struck Sabina as a martinet, the sort of vain man whose devotion was reserved strictly for himself.
She said coolly, “That may well be true, but she did so out of concern for you and your welfare.”
“Perhaps, but that is of no consequence,” Purifoy said. “She is merely an acquaintance who should have known better. I do not care to have my private life invaded.”