"Besides," I protested, "how would he get in? How would he get away?
What was he after, if he left the letters behind?" Then I rose
wearily. "I must be getting back to the office," I said. "This is
Saturday, and we close at two. Are you coming?"
"No," he answered; "if you don't mind, I'll sit here a while longer
and think things over, Lester. Perhaps I'll blunder on to the truth
yet!"
CHAPTER XVII
ENTER M. ARMAND
I got back to the office to find that M. Felix Armand, of Armand et
Fils, had called, and, finding me out, had left his card with the
pencilled memorandum that he would call again Monday morning. There
was another caller, who had awaited my return--a tall, angular man,
with a long moustache, who introduced himself as Simon W. Morgan, of
Osage City, Iowa.
"Poor Philip Vantine's nearest living relative, sir," he added. "I
came as soon as possible."
"It was very good of you," I said. "The funeral will be at ten
o'clock to-morrow morning, from the house."
"You had a telegram from me?"
"Yes," I answered.
He hitched about in his chair uneasily for a moment. I knew what he
wanted to say, but saw no reason to help him.
"He left a will, I suppose?" he asked, at last.
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