The Secret of the Haunted Mirror - M. V. Carey [14]
The lobby of the Beverly Sunset was quiet and thickly carpeted. There were low, round tables with freshly-cut flowers on them, numbers of deep, upholstered sofas and chairs, and a scattering of elderly ladies and gentlemen, some simply sitting, some reading or quietly chatting.
Pete spotted his quarry immediately. The dark-suited housebreaker was standing at the far side of the lobby, talking to the desk clerk.
Pete tried to imagine what Jupiter Jones would do under the circumstances, and decided that Jupiter would certainly attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation at the desk. He went noiselessly across the carpeted floor, stopped about four feet from the housebreaker, went down on one knee and began to fumble with his shoelaces.
“I am sorry, sir,” said the desk clerk. “Señor Santora is not in at the moment.”
“Then I will leave a message,” said the dark man “Some paper, if you please?”
“Certainly, sir.”
Pete stood up to see the burglar bent over the desk, writing something. Pete looked at the clock over the desk, checked it against his own wrist watch, turned away, and sat down on one of the sofas, his back to the desk.
“There,” said the burglar. “You will see that Señor Santora receives this?”
“Of course,” answered the clerk.
Pete sneaked a look over his shoulder. The dark, thin man was still standing with his back to Pete. Pete watched the desk clerk put a folded piece of paper into a numbered slot behind the desk. The number on the slot was 426.
The desk clerk finished this small task, then faced the thin visitor and raised an eyebrow, as if to ask if anything more was required at the moment.
“It is most important,” said the man.
“I will watch for Señor Santora,” promised the clerk.
Behind the desk a telephone buzzed.
“If you’ll excuse me,” murmured the clerk. He turned away and picked up the telephone.
The thin man sidled away and slipped round a corner into a corridor where a sign pointed the way to the elevators. An instant later Pete heard a door close, and then a hum which told him that the elevator was in motion. Señor Santora’s visitor was not going to rely on the desk clerk to deliver his message!
Pete realized that the message was probably only a ruse — a trick to get the hotel clerk put something in Santora’s mailbox so that the burglar would know Santora’s room number.
Pete hesitated a moment, then got to his feet and walked slowly past the desk and round the corner into the corridor where the elevators were located.
There were two elevators and there was also a stairwell, closed off by a heavy steel fire door. Again Pete paused, feeling the muscles in his stomach tighten. Then he opened the door and went up, taking the steps two at a time. When he reached the fourth floor landing he eased the fire door open a few inches and peered nervously into hallway.
He saw the luxurious carpeting of the lobby repeated. He saw small, low tables set against walls, and more masses of fresh flowers, and he saw doors. Doors and doors and more doors. But he did not see the slim, dark stranger.
Pete stepped out of the stairwell into the hallway and walked down the hall until he came to Room 426. He felt completely bewildered. Was the burglar in Santora’s room? Was he about to rob Santora? Or was he waiting to talk to Santora? Should Pete get help?
He looked up and down the hall. There was no telephone. There was only the carpeting, the tables and the flowers, and the blank, closed doors. Should he run back to the lobby and alert the desk clerk?
Again, Pete tried to imagine he was Jupiter Jones. Would Jupe run back to the lobby? No, Pete decided. Jupe would stay put and see what happened. He could always follow the burglar if the man left before Santora returned. And if Santora returned before the man left, there might be some interesting events to observe.
But he could not linger in the hall. If one of the numbered doors opened — if one of the hotel guests stepped into the corridor — he would surely be questioned. He had to get out of sight.
Almost directly across from Santora