The Red Seal [42]
"Disappeared?" questioned Ferguson in astonishment.
"Disappeared absolutely; I searched the porch thoroughly and couldn't find a trace of it," Kent explained. "And in spite of McIntyre's contention that it might have blown out of the window, I am certain it did not."
"The windows were open, and I recollect there was a strong draught," remarked Ferguson thoughtfully. "But not sufficient to carry away that envelope."
"Exactly." Kent stepped closer. "Did you observe which one of our companions stood nearest the porch table?"
Ferguson eyed him curiously. "Say, are you insinuating that one of those people took your envelope?"
"Yes."
A subdued whistle escaped Ferguson. "What was in that envelope. Mr. Kent," he demanded, "to make it of any value to that bunch?" and as Kent did not answer immediately, he added, "Are you sure it had nothing to do with Jimmie Turnbull's death and Philip Rochester's disappearance?"
"Quite sure." Kent's gaze did not waver before his penetrating look. "I have already told you that the envelope contained old love letters, and I very naturally do not wish them to fall into the hands of Colonel McIntyre, the father of the girl I hope to marry."
Ferguson smiled understandingly. "I see. From what I know of Colonel McIntyre there's a very narrow, nagging spirit concealed under his frank and engaging manner; I wish you joy of your future father-in-law," and he chuckled.
"Thanks," dryly. "You haven't answered my question as to who stood nearest the porch table, Ferguson."
The detective looked thoughtful. "We all stood fairly near; perhaps Mrs. Brewster was a shade the nearest. Mr. Clymer was offering her a chair when that noise came from the dining room. There's one thing I am willing to swear to" - his manner grew more earnest -" that envelope was still lying on the table when I hustled into the dining room."
"Well, who was the last person to leave the porch?" Kent demanded eagerly.
"I don't know," was the disappointing answer. "I reached the door at the same moment you did and passed right around the dining room to get a view of what was going on. I thought I would take a squint at the tables and see if there was any wine being used," he admitted. "But there was nothing doing in that line. Then Mr. Clymer offered to bring me down to Headquarters, and I left the club with him."
Kent took a turn about the room. "Did Mr. Clymer go to the Cosmos Club?" he asked, pausing by the detective.
"No, I heard him tell his chauffeur to drive to the Saratoga. Want to use the telephone?" observing Kent's glance stray to the instrument.
By way of answer Kent took off the receiver and after giving a number to Central, he recognized Clymer's voice over the telephone.
"That you, Mr. Clymer? Yes, well, this is Kent speaking. Can you tell me who was the last person to leave the porch when Colonel de Geofroy made his farewell speech to-night at the club?"
"I was," came Clymer's surprised answer.
"I waited for McIntyre to pick up Mrs. Brewster's fan."
"Did he take my letter off the table also?" called Kent.
"Why, no." Clymer's voice testified to his increased surprise. "Mrs. Brewster dropped her fan right in the doorway just as McIntyre and I approached; we both stooped to get it and, like fools; bumped our heads together in the act. He got the fan, however, and I waited for him to walk into the dining room before following Mrs. Brewster."
"As you passed the table, Mr. Clymer, did you see my letter lying on the table?" persisted Kent.
"Upon my word I never looked at the table," Clymer's hearty tone carried conviction. "I walked right along in my hurry to know what the cheering was about. I am sorry, Kent; have you mislaid your letter?"
"Yes," glumly. "Sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Clymer; good night," and Clymer's echoing, "Good night" sounded faintly as he hung up the receiver.
"Drew blank," he announced, turning to Ferguson. "Confound you, Ferguson; you bad no right to touch the papers in my safe. If harm comes from it, I'll make