It was not until two o’clock in the afternoon that Carroll returned to headquarters.  He found Leverage ready with his report.

“For one thing,” said the chief, “there isn’t a doubt that Warren was getting ready to leave town—­and for good.”

“How so?”

Leverage checked over his list.

“First, he had sublet his apartment.  Second, he had with him eleven hundred dollars in cash.  Third, he left his automobile with a dealer here to be sold, and did not place an order for any other car.  And fourth—­” Leverage paused impressively.

“Yes—­and fourth?”

“He fired his valet yesterday!”

CHAPTER VII

THE VALET TALKS

There was a triumphant ring to Leverage’s statement that the dead man’s valet had been discharged at some time during the twenty-four hours which immediately preceded the killing.  It was as if his instinct recognized a combination of circumstances which could not be ignored.  Carroll looked up interestedly.

“Have you talked to this fellow?”

“No.  I figured I’d better leave that phase of it to you; but I’m having him watched.  Cartwright is on the job.  Right now the man is at his boarding-place on Larson Street.”

Carroll started for the door.

“Let’s go,” he suggested laconically.

It was but a few minutes’ drive from headquarters to the boarding-house of Roland Warren’s former valet.  Carroll parked his car at the curb and inspected the place closely from the outside.

There was little architectural beauty to recommend the house.  It was a rambling, dilapidated, two-story structure, sadly in need of paint and repairs, and bespeaking occupancy by a family none too well blessed with the better things of existence.  They proceeded to the door and rang the bell.  A slatternly woman answered their summons, and Leverage addressed her: 

“We wish to see William Barker, please.”

“William Barker?”

“Yes.  I believe he moved here yesterday.”

“Oh, that feller!” The woman started inside.  “Wait a minute,” she said crossly, and shut the door in their faces.

While they stood waiting, Leverage glanced keenly up and down the street, and his eye lighted on the muscular figure of Cartwright, the plainclothes man, shivering in the partial shelter of an alley across the way.  The policeman signaled them that all was well, and resumed his vigil.  At that minute the door opened and the woman reappeared.

“He ain’t home!” she said, and promptly closed the door again.

Carroll looked at Leverage and Leverage looked at Carroll.  Leverage crossed the street and interrogated Cartwright.

“The landlady says he’s out, Cartwright.  How about it?”

“Bum steer, chief!  The bird’s there—­I’ll bet my silk shirt on it!”

Leverage recrossed the street and reported to Carroll.