“When was Dr. Kramer last seen in this building?”
“He passed through the office to the elevator yesterday afternoon,” she answered.
“I took him up to this floor, sir,” said the elevator boy. Then an elderly woman stepped forward.
“My rooms are across the hall,” she said, “and I saw him enter the room. It was about four o’clock.”
“And how long did he remain here?”
“I do not know. But later in the afternoon, shortly after five, I saw the janitor come out of Mrs. Brentore’s room. I thought nothing of it at the time, but perhaps it will prove to have some bearing on the matter, now that the janitor is supposed to have disappeared.”
“I am quite sure that it will have a bearing,” said Meroe. “And now, Mr. Barhart, may I please see the telegram which caused you to seek an entrance to these rooms this morning?”
Meroe read the message which Mr. Barhart handed him and then dismissed all except Barhart and Grover.
As the gathering dispersed, Meroe led me into the bedroom to examine the bodies. They were stretched side by side upon the bed under a sheet. The clothing was on a chair. I thought I heard Meroe utter an exclamation as he held up the dress of the woman. Then he turned to the bodies. The skin of each of them was ashy pale and the lips were almost a pale slate color.
“It is hard to believe that they died of heart failure,” I whispered. “It appears to me that the doctor and Mr. Barhart are very much interested in proving that a crime has not been committed.”
Meroe did not answer. He was on his way to the phone to notify the coroner.
When he returned he proceeded to examine the bodies very minutely from head to foot. Once he poked me and pointed to the lower arm of the woman near the elbow.
“It looks like a needle-prick,” I whispered.
Meroe then went over the arms of the man very carefully, but found nothing.
Suddenly he poked me again and pointed to the man’s left leg.
There was the same little mark which looked like a needle-prick.
“Do you think they have been poisoned?” I whispered.
“The coroner will soon find out,” he answered.
And then we joined Mr. Grover and Mr. Barhart, who had remained in the sitting-room of the suite.
Meroe sat down to examine the contents of the desk. I saw him put an envelope in his pocket.
“Mr. Barhart,” said Meroe, “what can you tell me of this janitor, Lee Harmon, who was seen to depart from this room yesterday afternoon, who would not permit Mr. Grover to notify you of his suspicions this morning and who has, since then, disappeared?”
“I know absolutely nothing about him, Mr. Meroe, except that we have employed him for little more than a month.”
“Did he come to you with recommendations?”
“His only recommendation was from — well, now, that’s funny! It hadn’t struck me before — his only recommendation was from Dr. Kramer.”
“Hm! I see. Well, how long have Mr. and Mrs. Brentore been guests at the Claridge?”
“Three years this next month.”
“And how long has Dr. Kramer been attending them?”
“Just this fall. Before that I do not believe they were in need of medical advice. If so, it did not come under my observation.”
“And Mr. and Mrs. Brentore were quite wealthy?”
“Very wealthy, Mr. Meroe.”
“As soon as the coroner arrives, Mr. Barhart, I will leave to make some further investigations of my own. I will return at two o’clock. Please see that all the available witnesses are present.”
“And — you are still of the opinion that a crime has been committed, Mr. Meroe?”
“I would rather not answer that, Mr. Barhart, until I have received the coroner’s statement... And, Mr. Grover, there is nothing to keep you now, but inasmuch as you are one of the chief witnesses I shall ask you to be present at two this afternoon.”
“Really, you know,” he rasped, “perhaps I have been over-hasty. I would not wish to be the cause of unnecessary trouble by suggesting that a crime had been committed when — when—”
“You were certainly the early bird this time, Mr. Meroe,” chuckled a voice in the doorway.
It was the coroner.
II
At the office of the Braymore, which was next door to the Buckminster, Meroe made inquiries about Dr. Kramer. He had occupied room number seventy-five on the seventh floor for two months; was not seen very often; was in the habit of spending long hours, sometimes days, in his room with the door locked, and had been known to refuse to answer messages or telephone calls. They knew nothing whatsoever of his practice, were not even sure that he possessed one. The last seen of him was the afternoon before, when he had returned to his room after having been away for two or three hours.
There was an automatic elevator in the Braymore. This we took to the seventh floor. We knocked at the door of seventy-five, but there was no answer. We tried to open it, but it was locked. Meroe called a maid.
“Dr. Kramer does not permit us to enter his room unless he calls us, sir,” she said, but handed him the pass key. The door was bolted from the inside and would not open.
“I think,” said Meroe, “that we can get in through the window, if you will let us into a room which opens out onto the roof of the Buckminster. There is no space between the two buildings.”
He was not mistaken. After climbing out of room seventy-two we encircled a small court and came to the window of Dr. Kramer’s room, which was closed but unfastened.
Inside there was nothing — absolutely nothing belonging to Dr. Kramer. The drawers were open and crumpled paper littered the floor, as if he had packed very hurriedly.
“So Dr. Kramer has disappeared, too,” muttered Meroe.
Outside, Meroe handed me the telegram which had been sent to Mr. Brentore. It was from Brattlenook, New Jersey, and dated November the twenty-ninth.
“Evidently you did not receive former telegram,” it read. “Latimer disappeared four months ago in face of heavy debts. Advise you retract will immediately.”
It was signed “R. Goodnow.”
“Harding is their lawyer,” said Meroe, drawing from his pocket the envelope he had found in Brentore’s desk. “If you will wire R. Goodnow of the death of Mr. and Mrs. Brentore, I will run up to see Harding and tend to one or two other matters. Then we will meet at Marston’s at twelve-thirty for a bite of lunch before ending this curious little story about the woman in a dark brown dress who stared at Henry Grover...”
There was an odd smile on Meroe’s face, but before I could speak he was striding down the street away from me.
Shortly before twelve-thirty I seated myself in the lobby of Marston’s to wait for Meroe. At twelve-fifty-five he came through the door as if he had been hurrying. His brows were puckered and he appeared distressed.
“What news?” I asked.
“That there were absolutely no traces of poison,” he replied, leading me quickly to a table in the corner.
“Then — then the whole thing is a farce — I mean about the crime part of it? What about the janitor and Kramer? What about Barhart and the house doctor?...”
But Meroe did not answer. After giving our order, he leaned back in his chair, with his chin sunk to his chest in deep thought.
“There is not much time,” he said. “I must make some sort of a showing at two o’clock, or the reputation of a year’s hard work will be seriously injured... Not that I really care,” he added, with a curious light in his eyes and a slow shaking of the head.
“What did you find from Harding?” I asked, but again he was lost in thought and did not hear me.
We ate in silence. Then we sat in silence.
I looked at my watch. It was after one-thirty.
Suddenly Meroe leaned over to touch my arm.
“Do you remember,” he asked slowly, “if those needle-pricks were directly over one of the large veins?”