Hammett’s nameless detective a year or so of work. But solving a mystery in that length of time didn’t appeal to him. He wanted faster action—and he got it in good measure. So will you if you begin this entertaining novelette. I “Do you know … Emil Bonfils?” “Mr. Leopold Gantvoort is not at home,” the servant who opened the door said, “but his son, Mr. Charles, is—if you wish to see him.” “No. I had an appointment with Mr. Leopold Gantvoort for nine or a little after. It’s just nine now. No doubt he’ll be back soon. I’ll wait.” “Very well, sir.” He stepped aside for me to enter the house, took my overcoat and hat, guided me to a room on the second floor—Gantvoort’s library—and left me. I picked up a magazine from the stack on the table, pulled an ash tray over beside me, and made myself comfortable. An hour passed.
