ut hurriedly. A few minutes later Rogers went into the
office and found his employer dead. That's the whole case, but it'll
be a hard one to break."

"Well, it must be broken!" retorted the other, pulling himself
together with a supreme effort. "Of course, I'll take the case."

"Of course!"

"Miss Holladay probably sent for me last night, but I was out at
Babylon, you know, looking up that witness in the Hurd affair. He'll
be all right, and his evidence will give us the case. Our answer in
the Brown injunction can wait till to-morrow. That's all, I think."

The chief nodded.

"Yes--I see the inquest is to begin at ten o'clock. You haven't much
time."

"No--I'd like to have a good man with me," and he glanced in my
direction. "Can you spare me Lester?"

My heart gave a jump. It was just the question I was hoping he would
ask.

"Why, yes, of course," answered the chief readily. "In a case like
this, certainly. Let me hear from you in the course of the day."

Mr. Royce nodded as he started for the door.

"I will; we'll find some flaw in that fellow's story, depend upon it.
Come on, Lester."

I snatched up pen and paper and followed him to the elevator. In a
moment we were in the street; there were cabs in plenty now,
disgorging their loads and starting back uptown again; we hailed one,
and in another moment were rattling along toward our destination with
such speed as the storm permitted. There were many questions surging
through my brain to which I should have welcomed an answer. The storm
had cut off my paper that morning, and I regretted now that I had not
made a more determined effort to get another. A glance at my companion
showed me the folly of attempting to secure any information from his,
so I contented myself with reviewing what I already knew of the
history of the principals.

I knew Hiram W. Holladay, the murdered man, quite well; not only as
every New Yorker knew that multi-millionaire as one of the most
successful operators in Wall Street, but personally as well, since he
had been a client of Graham & Royce for twenty years and more. He was
at that time well on toward seventy years of age, I should say, though
he carried his years remarkably well; his wife had been long dead,
and he had only one child, his daughter, Frances, who must have been
about twenty-five. She had been born abroad, and had spent the first
years of her life there with her mother, who had lingered on the
Riviera and among