CHAPTER NINE
Missing PersonsAt one minute past one the police car drew up in front of the old corner apartment house. Harold stood beside Gamadge’s car talking to a plain-clothes man. “All right and thanks,” said Gamadge. “Go on home.”
“Want the car?”
“I’d better have it.”
Harold walked off towards Third Avenue. Gamadge joined Nordhall in the lobby, where he was in conversation with an elderly Scot who wore trousers and a sweater over pajamas.
“The manager,” said Nordhall. “Mr. Macdougal.”
Macdougal returned Gamadge’s nod, and went on talking:
“When your men rang me just now, sir,” he said, “it was the first I knew that there had been trouble. I have my apartment in a wing at the back, on this floor; off the garden. If the tenants want me after ten o’clock at night they ring me. We
