about the living room. He stopped and sniffed the air.
'Paint,' he remarked.
'Yes, sir,' responded Brooks. 'The penthouse was renovated during your absence, sir.'
'Of course,' laughed Sartain. 'I had forgotten it. The old place looks fine, Brooks. You were here to see
that they did it right, weren't you?'
'Yes, sir. The studio was done over also. By the way, sir, I placed all your correspondence upon the
desk. Mr. Broderick called to make sure about his appointment. He was very anxious, over the
telephone, sir.'
'Yes, he would be,' smiled Sartain. 'I must go in the studio immediately. You, Hunnefield' — to the
secretary—'can receive Mr. Broderick. I shall ring for you when I am ready to interview him.'
Brooks opened a door at the far end of the living room. It showed a hallway, beyond that an opened
doorway. Brooks stepped nimbly ahead of Sartain, and entered the far room. He turned on the light. The
millionaire walked in and glanced about admiringly.
THE studio had been redecorated to perfection. The walls were painted with a mural design in gold leaf.
The large window, with its small panes of glass, had fresh paint upon its heavy iron framework. Sartain
glanced toward the skylight, high in the sloping roof.
'Very nice, Brooks,' was his compliment.
A large radiator was hissing softly in the corner of the room. Sartain did not appear to notice the sound.
He sat down at the desk and began to examine a stack of envelopes. Brooks stood at the door.
Hunnefield appeared beyond him.
'That is all, sir?' questioned the butler, as the secretary approached.
'Yes,' returned the millionaire. 'I do no wish to be disturbed. You may close the door, Brooks.'
The butler drew the door shut and turned toward Hunnefield. The natural action had blocked the
secretary's entrance. Now that Alfred Sartain was ensconced in his studio, Hunnefield decided not to
enter. He walked back into the living room with the butler. Brooks closed the second door as they
passed.
When the secretary had crossed the living room, Brooks threw a quick glance toward two objects. One
was a bell in the corner. It was silenced by a small plug of rubber placed between the clapper and the
bell itself. This was the spot where a summons from Sartain's room might be heard.
Brooks smiled. That plug made a ring impossible. But one quick, deft twist would remove it. That action
would come later.
Brooks also glanced toward a telephone in the corner. There was a switch beneath it. Pressed home, that
switch connected up with the telephone in the studio. It was not quite tight now. A slight press would do
the trick. That, too, would come later. At present, Alfred Sartain was completely isolated from outside
communication.
Brooks glanced at his watch. Thirty minutes was the time allotted. Then these details could be quietly
arranged. Brooks had little work to do. He smiled. With Hunnefield here, his actions would be accounted
for; and Broderick would arrive later. The sooner the better.
Brooks was to gain the pleasure of admitting the expected visitor very shortly. For at the precise moment
that the butler lounged across the living room, a man entered the lobby on the street floor far blow.
This visitor to the apartment building was a tall man who wore a light-brown overcoat and a gray hat. He
carried a large brief case in his hand. He stopped to speak to the doorman. In a quiet monotone, he put
the query:
'Is Mr. Alfred Sartain at home?'
A chance lounger in the lobby caught the question. It was one of 'Slips' Harbeck's men — an underling of
Larry Ricordo's trusted lieutenant. That man was very anxious to hear the rest of the conversation
between the doorman and the stranger.
'I believe that Mr. Sartain is here,' replied the doorman. 'I can call the penthouse and tell him that you
have arrived. What is the name, sir?'
'Broderick. Howard Broderick. I have an appointment.'
The lounger strolled from the lobby. Howard Broderick was the name of the one person who was to
have uninterrupted entrance to Sartain's domain.
The doorman put through a call. He received word to admit the visitor. He ushered the man with the brief
case to the elevator. A few minutes later, the visitor stepped forth at the entrance to the penthouse. He
rang the bell, and Brooks opened the door.
THE butler bowed and admitted the early arrival. He stared rather closely at the stranger. There was
something about the man's appearance that troubled the false butler. Broderick's face had a cold,
chiseled expression, and his eyes, as they glanced across the room, were firm and keenly observant.
'Mr. Sartain is expecting me.'
The visitor's voice chilled Brooks. It also attracted the attention of Hunnefield, who was seated in a chair,
reading. The secretary leaped to his feet and approached the stranger.
'Ah, you are Mr. Broderick?' he questioned. 'Mr. Sartain did not expect you so early. You will have to
wait, sir, until he rings for you to be admitted.'
'You can tell him that I am here?'
'No, I am afraid not. He is going over papers at present; and he will notify us as soon as he is free.'
Hat in hand, but with coat still on his shoulders, the tall visitor had moved easily across the room. He was
facing the door that barred the way to Sartain's studio.
As he turned, his keen eyes spotted the bell against the wall. They also saw the telephone. Then they
were turned toward the secretary.
In one sweeping glance, this person had noted the facts that so greatly concerned Brooks; but the false
butler had not fully realized its keenness.
'I must wait, then,' remarked the visitor, with a placid smile. 'Very well, I shall do so. Admirable place
that Mr. Sartain has here. Excellent view.'
He was strolling across the room as he spoke. He stopped by a pair of French doors that led out to a
veranda. With an easy, natural gesture, he turned the knob and glanced out into the night, toward the
twinkling lights of Manhattan.
'Quite all right?' he questioned.
'To step outside?' responded Hunnefield. 'Certainly, Mr. Broderick. I shall call you when we hear from
Mr. Sartain, unless you come in before that.'
'A delightful breeze,' observed the tall man quietly. 'Thank you for your courtesy.'
He stepped to the veranda as he finished the sentence, leaving the door half opened behind him.
Hunnefield dropped back into his chair. Brooks smiled and went about trivial duties. The presence of the
visitor had made the false butler feel ill at ease. He was just as glad that Broderick had stepped out upon
the veranda.
The glance of the keen eyes toward the telephone and the bell — it still disturbed Brooks. But with
Broderick temporarily out of sight, the butler was glad that the visitor had come. He remained just within
the French window, occasionally speaking to Hunnefield. Broderick would prove useful, perhaps, later
