The Mansion of Mystery by Chester K. Steele


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Page 1

"To think that she is guilty!" he muttered. "It is horrible!
Horrible!" And then his whole frame shook as if with the ague. Twice
he started up, to see if he had not yet arrived at his destination.
But the drive was a long one, and to him, in his keen anxiety, it
appeared an age.

"If he is away--out of town--in Europe, or on some case which he cannot
leave, what am I to do?" he murmured. "I've pinned my whole faith on
him."

Presently there was a jar, and the taxicab came to a halt in front of a
large office building. The young man gave one look, and, before the
driver could get down, had the door open and was on the pavement.
"Here you are," he said and thrust a dollar bill into the fellow's
hand. Then he crossed the broad pavement and was lost to sight in the
corridor beyond.

"In a hurry and no mistake, and looks a heap worried, too," was the
chauffeur's comment. "Well, I'm a quarter ahead on that fare."

For a moment the young man studied the directory on the corridor wall.
Then he entered an elevator and alighted at the eighth floor. He,
walked down a side hall until he came to a door upon the glass of which
was inscribed the name:

_Adam Adams_

"This must be the place," he murmured, and opening the door he entered
the office, to find himself in a plain but neatly furnished apartment,
containing several chairs, and a flat-top desk, at which a young lady
was writing.

"Is Mr. Adams in?" he asked, as the young lady arose to meet him.

"What name, please?" was the counter question, and the young lady gave
the visitor a keen glance.

"Raymond Case." The young man brought forth his card. "Tell Mr. Adams
I am the son of the late Wilbur Case, and wish to see him on important
business."

The young lady disappeared through a door leading to an inner
apartment. From this she entered another apartment, much larger, and
overlooking the little city park far below. The room was filled with
books and pictures, and some wall brackets contained several bits of
finely-carved statuary. There was one large roller-top desk and three
comfortable leather chairs.

At the desk sat a man of uncertain age, with a strong face, a somewhat
bald head, and eyes that were neither light nor dark. The man was of
ordinary height, but muscular to a surprising degree. His face showed
a high order of intelligence and his mouth a determination not easily
thrust aside.

"A gentleman to see you," said the young lady. She placed the card
before him. "He told me to tell you that he is the son of the late
Wilbur Case, and wishes to see you on important business."

The man at the desk drew a long breath and looked up from a slip of
paper which he had been studying through a microscope. "Raymond Case,
eh? All right, Letty, show him in."

In another moment the visitor was in the private office. Adam Adams
arose and gave him a warm handshake.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Case," he said cordially. "I knew your late
father quite well--a fine man--a very fine man, indeed. Have a chair
and make yourself at home." He noted that his visitor was much
agitated and flushed. "Sit down by the window; there is a nice breeze
there from across the park."

"Mr. Adams, I would like to see you in private," returned the young
man, as he took a seat and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief.

"Very well," and the office door was carefully closed. Then came a
brief pause, during which Raymond Case cleared his throat several times.

"Mr. Adams, you do not know much about me, but I know a great deal
about you," he commenced. "Three or four years ago you recovered some
stolen mining shares for my father, and last year you cleared up the
Sandford mystery, after the police and the other detectives had failed
completely."

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Thu 21st Feb 2019, 2:02