Stefan 'The King' Rex. Now that was a name that I had not heard mentioned for a while. I had thought him dead. For the note to direct me to him indicated otherwise.

It was not a name that I had expected to see either, especially in the context of my investigation. Stefan was a pianoman and singer down at the Blue Butterfly Nightclub. How he fitted in with it all was another mystery. It was possible that he knew Mister Hanes or Miss White, if he was still around.

I tucked the envelope of money into the inner pocket of my coat. I wasn't sure what to make of it. It might have been a bribe, given the manner of its delivery. I'd been offered a few of them before, none of which I had taken. I wasn't about to accept one now. However, it was noted that it was to be used for the investigation. I was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. For now.

I took out my notepad, adding Stefan's name to my notes. I circled his named and placed a question mark after it.

The notepad went back into the pocket and I rose from my seat, making my way down the length of the trolley car to the exit. There was another short jolt as the trolley came to a stop. The doors slid open and I stepped out, into the autotrolley stop that was along the main thoroughfare of Grovegate. There was little visual difference between Grovegate and the district I had come from, the same mists and drizzle, the same style of buildings lining the way, the same sort of people walking along its length.

I made sure my hat and coat were sitting right, shoved my hands into my pockets and stepped out of the shelter of the trolley stop, once more into the drizzle. The accountancy firm of Dunlin and Khatur wasn't situated along the main thoroughfare of Grovegate, instead being along the main arterial road that led from it towards the central spire of the city.

People flowed all around me, going about their business as I walked. I passed by the open entrance to a club and from it drifted the smooth, mellow tones of a trumpet in action. Scents from a bakery wafted through the air. My stomach reacted, reminding me that I hadn't eaten for a while. I ducked inside the bakery and bought a pie from them before continuing on my way.

From the thoroughfare, I turned into East of Grovegate, a long street that arrowed straight towards the central spire that supported the city. It was only marginally less well lit than the thoroughfare, containing less shops but more offices. The one that I wanted, the accounting office, was one of the largest of them, a dozen stories in height. It had the look of an old apartment block that had been taken over and partially converted. While the upper levels remained apartments, as Miss White had told me, the lower ones had been turned into the offices in which the accountants conducted their business.

I stopped beneath a broad red and white awning of a barber shop across the road from Dunlin and Khatur, eating my pie as I studied the building. From time to time an automobile would whirr to a halt outside it and a person enter or leave the building but beyond that there was little to be seen and only a few visitors.

I couldn't get much of a read on the building, a feeling for it. Sometimes you can, a sense about it that can help the investigation, giving a clue as to what is going on inside. The building can sometimes influence the tenants. It is also true that the tenants can influence the building as well. Dunlin and Khatur gave off at most a respectable dullness. Fitting, then, for a firm of accountants. Even the advertising was muted, consisting of a simple brass plaque over the door that bore the name of the firm.

My pie finished, I waited for an automobile to pass on by before crossing the road, dashing from the shelter of one awning to that of the one out in front of Dunlin and Khatur. Shaking my coat to shed some of the rain that had beaded upon it off, I pushed open the double glass doors and headed inside.

It was quiet in there. Beyond the odd clatter of a typewriter in action, only the occasional low murmur of a voice could be made out and the dull sound of a fan spinning slowly.

In the entrance hall a reception desk had been set up, behind which sat a young woman, her blonde hair fashioned into waves. She looked rather bored, reading from a magazine and ignoring my entrance. I removed my hat and coat and hung them up on the rack beside the door, alongside a number of others. I took my notepad and the envelope with the money in it from my coat and transferred them across to my suit jacket.

The receptionist had still not looked up the whole time I was doing that. It wasn't until I had crossed to stand in front of the desk, and had cleared my throat, that she set down the magazine and looked up at me. I got the impression that she was a touch unhappy about the interruption. Not the best of attitudes to be having for a receptionist. For a moment I wondered why the firm employed her if that was how she greeted clients. To be sure, she was not unpleasant on the eye, but Dunlin and Khatur struck me as a firm that worried less about that kind of thing and more about efficiency.

I, at least, decided to be polite. I gave her a smile. "Good day, miss."

"Can I help you?" she asked. It came across rather pointed. She wanted to be done with me as soon as she could.

"I do hope so. I am here about Mister Hanes."

Her attitude changed the moment I mentioned his name. I could see a lot of the resentment disappear from her at it. She sat up a touch straighter and actually managed a brief smile. "Are you with the police?" she asked.

"No miss," I told her as I shook my head. "I am a private investigator."

"I am glad that someone at last is looking into the matter of poor Nathan. We did go to the police about him but they weren't too concerned, or interested. We told them it wasn't like him but that didn't change anything." She rose to her feet, smoothing down her dress as she did. "I will take you up to daddy. Mister Dunlin I mean."

That, at least, explained why she was working there.

Miss Dunlin, and by the lack of a ring on her finger I took her to be a Miss, took me down the hall. We passed by a number of open doors on the way that led into rooms where industrious young men worked away at large ledgers, scribbling in numbers in ink, or consulted tables of numbers and figures.

At the end of the hall we came to an elevator, one that sat open and waiting. We stepped inside and I pulled the cage shut behind us. Miss Dunlin pressed a button for the third floor and the elevator began to trundle up. Reaching the third floor, it jerked to a halt.

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We stepped out and made our way down another hallway, to a large set of doors at the far end. From its position, it was located at the front of the building. Miss Dunlin opened the door and stepped into a secretary's office. Another young woman sat a desk in there, dark of hair and busy clattering away at a typewriter, writing up a note that sat on the desk beside the typewriter. A set of round glasses were perched on her nose.

"Is he free Ellyn?"

"Yes, Miss Dunlin," Ellyn replied, not even looking up from the note she was typing up as she spoke.

Miss Dunlin pushed open another set of doors at the rear of the room, and entered the office of Mister Dunlin.

The room on the other side of them wasn't overly large, but it was well appointed. A carpet was laid on the ground, thick enough to muffle any footsteps, while a number of lamps were set up around the room to give it plenty of light. Most of the walls were taken up with shelves that held heavy ledgers and leather-bound books. A large set of windows looked out onto the misty street below. Before them was placed a desk, a big one of carved wood and upholstered with green leather. A man sat at the desk, dressed in a well-made suit of plain grey. The only colour to be had to it was a red tie, and even that was mostly muted in tone. His hair and moustache had also gone almost entirely grey. A pen scratched away as he worked at a ledger set before him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he did so. He had a slightly portly, harried look about him, that of a man who worked too hard and didn't get out and about enough.

"Daddy," Miss Dunlin said, "This man is here about Nathan."

Mister Dunlin looked up at the interruption and a look of relief could be seen to wash away a lot of the harried look. He took to his feet and came around the desk to meet me, offering his hand as he did. I took it and was greeted with a firm handshake.

"Delighted to meet you, sir," he said. Given his stature, he had a surprisingly soft voice. "Thank you, Sybil," he then said to his daughter.

Miss Dunlin - Sybil - disappeared back out of the office, closing the doors behind her, leaving me alone with her father.

"She is a good girl," Mister Dunlin said, watching her go, "But a touch forgetful at times. Her mother asked me to find her a job here and I couldn't exactly so no to the missus. She never mentioned your name."

"Marcus Stone."

"Private investigator?"

I nodded.

"At least someone is taking an interest. The police have been less than useful. Makes you despair and wonder why you pay your taxes." He walked over to the side of a room, to where a drinks cabinet stood and opened it up. "Can I get you a drink?"

“Thanks.”

He took out two glasses and set them down on the bench of the cabinet. From the collection of bottles, he took one and poured out two glasses of whisky. "I gather it was Nathan’s young lady friend that asked you to look into the matter," he commented as he stoppered up the bottle again.

“She did.”

Dunlin picked up the two glasses and returned to me. He passed one to me before returning to his seat beside the desk. "Please, sit. How can I be of assistance?"

"I am trying to get an understanding of Mister Hanes, and what he is like," I replied as I sat down in the chair on the opposite of the desk from Dunlin. I took a sip of the whisky as I did. It was smooth, a step above what I was used to. No doubt it came from one of the dwarven distilleries.

"He is one of my best," Dunlin replied with enthusiasm. "Hard working, conscientious, diligent. Never made any mistakes. A model employee. I trusted him with our top clients."

I set down the glass on the table and took out my notepad and pencil. "Any trouble with any of them?"

Dunlin shook his head. "Not at all. We've had most of them on our books for years. And before you ask, they are all honest, dependable businesses. We don't go dealing with that other kind."

“I don't suppose I could wrangle any of their names out of you."

Dunlin swirled his glass about and responded with an apologetic smile. "Can't do that, sorry. Our clients trust us to keep confidential about all such matters."

"I understand." Dunlin struck me as a rigorously honest man, the type that wouldn't fudge his tax returns, and who also believes that everyone else was fundamentally honest as well. He wouldn't go breaking the rules and as a result might be oblivious to those that would doing so. "Any new clients come on board for Mister Hanes recently?"

Dunlin frowned for a moment as he took a sip of the whisky. "There was one," he admitted. "A minor one. It could easily have been handled by one of our junior accountants but Nathan insisted on taking it on himself."

"Was that unusual?"

"For most people, yes, it would have been. But not for Nathan. As I said, he is a hard worker and he was doing this for a friend of the family."

"You don't think that this might have had anything to do with his disappearance, do you?"

"I wouldn't have thought so," Dunlin replied. "As I said, it was a minor matter."

"People have killed for less than minor things in the past."

Dunlin looked troubled by that thought but he shook his head. "Either Khatur or myself look over all new clients before we take them on, to vet them. This was on the up and up." He paused and gave me a worried look. "You don't think that Nathan is dead, do you?"

"I hope not, for Miss White's sake."

"Miss White?" He did not know that name, which struck me as more than odd.

"His lady friend."

Understanding dawned on Dunlin and he nodded. "I did not know her name," he explained. "I only knew that he had recently met a young lady. As I understood it, it was proceeding most serious and I was expecting that he would be moving out soon."

"Leave the firm you mean?"

"Oh, not like that," he replied and even managed a laugh. He motioned above with a thumb. "I mean that he would move out of the building, from his accommodation above. Many of the young men that we employ live here also. It is cheap, close to work and saves us the trouble of having to advertise for tenants as well as managing them, and knowing that the rooms will be well looked after. It is a profoundly satisfactory arrangement for all involved. They aren't suitable, or appropriate, for married couples though, let alone families. If he was as serious about the young lady as I suspected, then I would expect that he was looking for a new place that they could live in together."

I made a few notes on my pad as I continued on. "Did you know how the pair of them met?"

"No," he told me. "I hadn't even met her." A thought came to him and he nodded to himself. "My daughter, though, I believe she met her. You should talk to her about it. She might be able to help you." A low chuckle came from him. "Who would have thought that my daughter's socialising would one day be of help."

"You mentioned that he was doing a job for a friend of the family. What do you know of his family?"

"His parents are deceased. He has a sister who is married to a law clerk at the form of Bowe, Uhlat and Apannar. Her name is Nicole I believe but I never found out what his name was."

More notes went into the growing list for the investigation. "How did he get on with the rest of the staff here? Any problems?"

"No, none that I have heard of. He was an amiable, well liked man. Got on well with everyone. I can't believe that there were any problems here that would have led to his disappearance."

Dunlin obviously lived in a different world than I did. No one was ever universally liked. There was always a minor disagreement or two with even the most agreeable of people. Accountants didn't strike me as the type who were likely to do much about it though.

"So, it was an outside problem then you think?"

"It would have to have been," Dunlin replied. He took another sip from his whisky. "I can't see any other option," he added after he swallowed the drink.

"I do have to look into all possibilities," I told him.

"Understandable."

I tossed back the rest of my whisky before closing my notepad. Along with the pencil I returned it to my jacket pocket. "I believe that covers everything for the moment. Would it be possible to see his apartment?"

"His apartment?"

"Yes. There may be clues there that can aid my investigation and help us find Mister Hanes."

"Of course. I will see that it is arranged."