2:01 a.m. —An Empty Sheath
It was just after two o’clock when Lieutenant Valcour stepped to the pavement and paid his fare to the driver. The cab snorted away and left silence hanging heavy on the street. The bachelor apartment house where Hollander lived had an English basement entrance. He found Hollander’s name among a row of five others and pressed the proper button. After he had pressed it four times, a voice answered him through the earpiece of the announcer.
“Who and what is it?” said the voice.
It was the Southern voice.
“This is Lieutenant Valcour of the police department talking.”
“Oh. Mr. Hollander has already left, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, I know that. I want to come upstairs.”
“Fourth floor, Lieutenant—automatic lift.”
“Thank you.”
The release mechanism on the door was already clicking. Lieutenant Valcour entered a smart little lobby and then an electric lift. He pressed the button for the fourth floor.
“Sorry to bother you like this,” he said, as he stepped out into a private foyer, and stared curiously at the young man facing him.
“No trouble at all, Lieutenant.”