Stopping to telephone, Average Jones ascertained that there were no
vacant offices on the tenth floor, south side of the Glenargan
apartment building, facing the Nederstrom Hotel. The last one had
been let two weeks before to--this he ascertained by judicious
questioning--a dark, foreign gentleman who was an expert on rugs.
Well satisfied, the investigator crossed over to the skyscraper
across from the Palatia. There he demanded of the superintendent a
single office on the third floor, facing north. He was taken to a
clean and vacant room. One glance out of the window showed him his
handkerchief, not opposite, but well to the west.

"Too near Fifth Avenue," he said. "I don't like the roar of the
traffic."

"There's one other room on this floor, farther along," said the
superintendent, "but it isn't in order. Mr. Perkins' time isn't up
till day after tomorrow, and his things are there yet. He told the
janitor, though, that he was leaving town and wouldn't bother to
take away the things. They aren't worth much. Here's the place."

They entered the office. In it were only a desk, two chairs and a
scrap basket. The basket was crammed with newspapers. One of them
was the Hotel Register. Average Jones found Telfik Bey's name, as
he had expected, in its roster.

"I'll give fifty dollars for the furniture as it stands."

"Glad to get it," was the prompt response. "Will you want anything
else, now?"