"Yes, thank'ee, sir."
After they had taken their departure the detective stood for a minute or two in thought and then turned to ring the bell, but he found himself confronted once more by Miss Meade.
"Sergeant Odell, who were those men?"
"They were sent for to rehang the portrait, I believe, but they were mere carpenters and unable to handle the job," he replied. How long she had been standing there he could not imagine, and he began to feel a certain irritation against her. She was very gentle and appealing and all that, but why couldn't she walk so that one could hear her coming?
"Peters must have sent for them before he left, I suppose, but he should have consulted me." She was gazing at the face of the portrait and her voice was introspective. "That was my father, you know. He—but I am forgetting. I came to ask you if I might send you a tray of lunch in here?"
"Thanks, no." He glanced at his watch. "Miss Meade, will you give me the address of the beauty-parlor where Mrs. Lorne was having treatments at the time of her death?"
"It is not exactly a beauty-parlor; it is called Monsieur Florian's, and is at 681 Fifth Avenue. He considers himself a specialist, I believe; but I saw no difference in my sister. To me she had not changed since her first marriage."
"A specialist, you say? Will you tell me too, Miss Meade, what Doctor Adams's office hours are?"
"From nine to ten, one to two, and five to seven," she replied. "But he will look in sometime this afternoon to see
