“No. When father died he left me about two hundred thousand in trust.”
Harper's figure stiffened in the chair and his voice was sharp as he spoke. “In George Dunlap's bank?”
“No. The City National.”
Harper leaned back in the chair. “Your uncle's had some threatening letters from depositors since his bank closed. You know, of course, that I've been hired to see that none of these threats are carried out.”
“But what will we do now?”
Harper surveyed the tips of his shoes. Then he looked at the girl and said, “I don't know—yet.” He hesitated and his voice was level as he continued, “As far as I know, George Dunlap was not to blame for the crash. Was he hard up?”
Aileen Reynolds caught her underlip with firm teeth, loosed it. “I let him have some money a week ago.”
The plaster on Harper's eyebrow lifted. “Much?”
“A thousand.”
The plaster dropped back in place. “He was paying us a hundred a week to act as his bodyguard. But he was afraid of those letters and he offered a bonus of a thousand if he got through this first month without being smeared.” Harper's eyes clouded. “I'd like to find out what it's all about.”
“I'll pay you whatever you ask if you will,” said the girl. “I hardly know what to do. The police— that note—”
“Never mind the police just now.” Harper stood up and his voice was frigid, deliberate. “You sit tight until I tell you different. And there will be no charge for my work—just expenses. If I get him back I'll hit him for that thousand bonus.”
CHAPTER II. THE SECOND BODY.
WALT HARPER was an enigma even to his partner. When pressed for information about Harper, Tom Munn had to admit his ignorance. The two had been together in Belleau Woods, had been given adjoining beds in the base hospital. Four years previous Harper had drifted into town as an agent for the Department of Justice. Munn had been a sergeant of detectives with the local police. Two years later Harper came back. He had some money. He propositioned Munn, and the two had set themselves up as private detectives.
That was all Tom Munn knew about Walt Harper except that he liked the game, that he was without sentiment, and that once on a case he stuck to it with the dogged determination of a bulldog.
At eleven o'clock of the morning following the kidnapping, the partners sat in their private office. The puzzled frown which creased Munn's wide, weathered forehead bore testimony to the fact that Harper was still an enigma.
Harper slouched in his chair, crossed his legs, and blew out a cloud of smoke he had been cuddling in his mouth. “What'd you find out about Dunlap?” he asked.
Munn grunted. “You call up at eleven o'clock last night and expect me to—”
“You've had all morning.” Harper rubbed first one side of his mustache, then the other. He was dressed in a neat gray flannel suit, his blue shirt was fresh, and his black oxfords were polished to a mirror-like perfection. Except for the three small patches on his face and a slightly discolored eye, his dark, handsome features bore no trace of his beating.
“Both hours,” snorted Munn. “But”—he sat up in his chair—“I got most of the stuff. So far, Dunlap is clear with the bank examiner. Up till now, the failure of the State Street Trust was due to just one of those things—frozen assets.
“Dunlap is about broke, according to appearances. The clerk in the safe-deposit vaults is still on duty. He says Dunlap was in to open his box a week ago, and again yesterday morning. But what's this idea of going to Boston?”
Harper uncrossed his long legs, stretched them out in front of him. His chin rested on his chest and he looked up at Munn without raising his head. “That's where Dunlap is,” he said calmly.
“Yeah?” Munn scowled. “What makes you think so?”
“A hunch that started with the envelope I told you about. After I called you last night I called Bob Brooks over at the airport. Two strangers chartered a plane for New York yesterday afternoon—so Brooks said. Dunlap left with them last night.”
HARPER hesitated a moment while he ground out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. “So I went over and had a talk with Brooks.”
“Well?” pressed Munn.
“I found out that the pilot expected to come right back, getting in here around seven in the morning. He did. His customers changed their minds. They went to Boston and gave him a century to say he'd been to New York. The pilot's hitting the hay now. He's gonna be ready to take off with me at noon.”
“Who the hell's gonna pay for it?”
Harper's mustache twitched above a flickering smile. “Miss Aileen Reynolds.”
“That's different.” Munn grinned, slipped a cigar from his vest pocket. He bit off the end, flicked it from his mouth with a snap of his tongue and lighted it. “How much is in it for us?”
“Our expenses.”
Munn jerked upright in his chair, his cigar shooting up at a sharp angle from the corner of a mouth clamped like a vise. “So business is picking up?”
