After lunch, the two young men returned to the library. They sat there, smoking, with the windows again unbarred. Paul Marchelle put in a call to Garrett Slader; Howard Wycliff made one to Doctor Keyes. They learned that the physician intended to visit the old lawyer that evening.
The moving van arrived at four o’clock. Four men entered to take out the furniture. Paul Marchelle showed his list to Howard Wycliff.
“I’m going to check each piece of furniture,” he said. “Everything is going out. You can stay in here; I’ll watch the loading.”
Howard Wycliff nodded his agreement. The removal of the furniture was an essential step to the next search for the missing deed; nevertheless, with Vorber under suspicion, it was advisable to neglect nothing.
IT required nearly an hour for the moving men to get the large, bulky furniture into the van. Miles Vorber aided in the work, constantly urging the movers to be careful. When the big couch had gone out, Paul Marchelle came in from the front door. He handed his list to Howard Wycliff, with a significant gesture.
“All the important pieces have gone,” he declared. “Not one is missing. That’s that. The check-up is finished.”
“What about these?” asked Howard, pointing to the discarded pieces of furniture in the other end of the room. “They are going along also.”
Miles Vorber was coming in the doorway. Paul Marchelle turned quickly to Howard Wycliff.
“Certainly,” said the young lawyer, in a tone calculated to lull Vorber’s suspicion. “Check those smaller items. When furniture goes to storage, it is wise to neglect nothing.”
“I have come for the pictures, sir,” announced Vorber, to Howard Wycliff. “Shall I take them upstairs with the books?”
“Yes,” decided Howard. “That is better than having them go to storage.”
Paul Marchelle caught Howard’s quick glance. He nodded. He went to the wall and took down one of the pictures.
“Let me stack them,” he suggested “Vorber can carry them upstairs after all the furniture is gone. In the meantime, he can help take out these small chairs and tables.”
Howard Wycliff understood. The pictures had been examined in a previous search; nevertheless, Vorber’s reference to them was direct. Paul Marchelle was playing safe. By taking down the pictures himself, he could make sure that none of them contained the missing deed.
The first picture that Marchelle removed from the wall was the portrait of Cyril Wycliff, the picture at which Vorber had stared the night before. As though by accident, Marchelle let the rear of the frame come open. The portrait dropped upon the floor. In replacing it, Marchelle made positive that there was nothing between the picture and the back of the frame.
“I’m going outside to check up the furniture,” remarked Howard Wycliff. “Vorber, you can carry out a few pieces and begin to take the pictures upstairs when the moving men come in from the van.”
“Very good, sir.”
Vorber picked up a table and a chair. He carried both objects into the hall and set them back from the door. He returned for two more light chairs. Howard Wycliff went out; Paul Marchelle, removing a second picture from the wall, watched Vorber from the corner of his eye.
Two moving men entered. Vorber pointed to the odd items of furniture that were still in the room. The men picked up the pieces. Vorber spoke as they went out.
“I put some chairs in the hall,” he said. “You can get those when you come back.”
“That will be the last trip,” rejoined a moving man.
As soon as the movers had walked out, Vorber turned to Paul Marchelle. The servant pointed to the portrait of Cyril Wycliff.
“Is that ready to go upstairs, sir?” he questioned.
Marchelle nodded.
Vorber picked up the portrait. He went from the room. Marchelle heard his footsteps pause in the hall. Then they continued upward.
Marchelle smiled. This was the opportunity he wanted; it gave him time for an examination of the other pictures similar to the one which he had artfully made with Cyril Wycliff’s portrait.
MOST of the pictures were small. Marchelle quickly examined the only two that seemed large enough to contain the missing deed. Gathering half a dozen pictures, Marchelle went from the room. He arrived in the hall just as the moving men were departing with the final pieces of furniture.
Marchelle moved upstairs. He reached the third floor. He called for Vorber. The old servant popped suddenly from his own room.
“Where do these pictures go?” questioned Marchelle. “In there?”
“No, no, sir,” returned Vorber hastily. “That is my room. Come this way, Mr. Marchelle.”
The servant led the lawyer to a storeroom at the other end of the hall. Cyril Wycliff’s portrait was resting on the floor. Marchelle deposited his pictures with it.
“Come downstairs, Vorber,” he ordered. “I’ll help you bring up the remaining pictures.”
Vorber complied. He and Marchelle reached the living room. They took up the last bundle of pictures. When they had placed them in the storeroom, Paul Marchelle looked at the door.
“We’ll lock it,” he said, “and give the key to Mr. Wycliff. Some of those pictures may be valuable.”
“Very well, sir,” agreed Vorber.
The servant went to his own room, while Marchelle was locking the door of the storeroom. With a furtive glance toward the lawyer, Vorber locked the door of his room. He saw Marchelle waiting for him. He followed as Marchelle beckoned him to come toward the stairs.
“There may be more work downstairs,” remarked Marchelle. “You can find out from Mr. Wycliff.”
Howard Wycliff was coming in the front door when Marchelle and Vorber arrived. The servant inquired if there were any further duties. Howard glanced at his watch.
“Dinner,” he said, with a smile. “Of course, we can go out—”
“It would be better to eat here,” interposed Paul Marchelle.
“I guess so,” agreed Howard. “Prepare the meal, Vorber. It is after half past five.”
THE library, devoid of furniture, no longer served as a conference room. Howard Wycliff barred the windows and locked the door. He and Paul Marchelle went up to the second floor, to a stuffy little sitting room at the head of the stairs.
“We can watch the library from here,” remarked Paul Marchelle. “We must be alert from now on, Howard. The room will be torn up tomorrow; but in the meantime—”
“We must watch Vorber.”
“Exactly.”
Shortly after six o’clock, Vorber came up the stairs to announce that dinner was served. Howard Wycliff and Paul Marchelle followed the servant to the ground floor. They entered the dining room and sat at the table.
“Here is your list,” remarked Howard, as they began to eat.
Paul Marchelle received the paper. He glanced at the tabulated items, with check marks all down the row. Those at the top were his own, checking the large pieces of furniture. The marks at the bottom were the ones which Howard Wycliff had made, in the mere routine checking of the smaller, rejected items.
Marchelle’s eyes stopped. On the list were two identical statements, in column form, near the bottom:
One flat-topped table.
One flat-topped table.
Only the first of these identical items had been checked by Howard Wycliff. Paul Marchelle stared; then crumpled the list and thrust it in his pocket. He looked up to see Vorber entering from the pantry.
“You checked everything, of course,” remarked Marchelle, to Howard Wycliff.
“Yes,” was the response.