Gard frowned.  “Well, I happen to know they got what they were after in the way of information.  But I took the liberty of being custodian of the contents of that strong box—­with Miss Marteen’s permission, of course—­so there is nothing more to be done in that direction.  Now, have you had a man trailing Mahr?  What I want is an interview with him in informal and quiet surroundings, with a view to clearing the matter up, you understand.  But I’d rather not ask him for a meeting.  All I know about his mode of life is:  Metropolitan Club after five, usually; the Opera Monday nights.  Neither of these habits will assist me in the least.  I want by to-morrow a pretty good list of his engagements and a general map of his day—­or perhaps you know enough now to oblige me with that information.”

Brencherly cast an inquisitive look at Gard.  He had never accepted Gard’s explanation of his interest in Mahr’s affairs.

“Well,” he began slowly, “I put our men on the other end of the case—­Balling, the Essex Safe Company and all that, and I went after Mahr myself.  I think I can give you a fair idea of his daily life.  He’s at the office early—­before nine, usually—­and by twelve he’s off, unless something unusual happens.  He lunches with a club of men, as I guess you know.  He goes for an hour to Tim McCurdy’s, the ex-pugilist, for training.  Then he’s home for an hour with his secretary, going over private business and correspondence.  Then he goes to the club for bridge, and in the evening he’s usually out somewhere—­any place that’s A1 with the crowd.  His son he has tied as tight to the office as any tenpenny clerk; doesn’t get off till after five, and then he makes a beeline for the Marteens’ or goes wherever he’ll find the girl.  I think—­but, perhaps you know best.”  He paused, with one of his characteristic shuffles.

Gard noted the sign and interpreted it correctly.

“If you’ve got a good idea, it’s worth your while,” he said shortly.

Brencherly blushed as guilelessly as a girl.  “Oh, it’s nothing, only I think—­perhaps if you want to see him alone, you might pretend some business and go to his house about the time he’s there every afternoon.”

“And discuss our affairs before a secretary?” sneered Gard.  “You can bet Mahr’d have him in the office—­I know his way.”

“Well, his den is pretty near sound-proof, like yours, sir.  And besides, I could arrange with Mr. Long, the secretary, to have a headache, or a bad fall, or any little thing, the day you might mention—­he’s a personal friend of mine.”

“Well, just now I don’t much care how you manage it.  What I want is that interview.  Is your friend, Mr. Long, a confidential secretary?”

“I don’t think,” said Brencherly demurely, “that Mr. Mahr is very confidential even to himself.”

“Could you reach him—­Mr. Long, I mean—­at any time?” asked Gard—­he was planning rapidly.

The detective nodded toward the telephone.