g
reported at police headquarters that could possibly interest you. I've
looked over the morning papers carefully to see if there was anything
the reporters had that might be a clew. There's nothing. I took the
liberty of sending Dr. Balys over to the young lady this morning--she
seemed in such a state; he'll be back any minute, though. I've got every
line pulling on the quiet. I've done my best, sir."

Brencherly's voice ceased, and Gard drew a sigh of relief. At least
there was no bad news, and as yet nothing in public print concerning the
tragedy. The discovery had probably been made early that morning by the
servant, whose duty it was to care for the master's private apartments.
The first afternoon papers would contain all the details, and perhaps
the ticker would have the news before. He realized that all the haggard
night he had been fearing that the morning would bring him knowledge of
Mrs. Marteen's death--drowned, asphyxiated, poisoned--the many shapes of
the one terrible deed had presented themselves to his subconscious mind,
to be thrust away by his stubborn will. Dorothy, summoned to the
telephone, had nothing to add to Brencherly's information, but seemed to
derive comfort and consolation from Gard's assurances that all would be
well. She would call him again at noon, she said.

He came from the booth almost glad. His step was light, his troubled
eyes clear once more. He was ready to play his part in every sense,
grateful for the respite from his pain. His confidence in himself
returned, and he went to the trying and momentous meetings of the
morning with his gigantic mental grasp and convincing methods at their
best.

Dorothy's message did not reach him till after midday had come and gone.
Once Larkin had left the conclave and returned with his face big with
consternation and surprise. Gard divined that the news of the murder was
out, but nothing was brought up except the business of the corporation.

When at last he left the meeting he motored back to the hotel, refusing
the hospitality cordially extended to him, his one desire to be again in
touch with events transpiring in New York. He had hardly shown himself
in the lobby when a page summoned him to the telephone.

It was Dorothy, her voice faint with fright.

"It's you," she cried--"it's you! Have you learned anything about
mother? We haven't any news--nothing at all. Mr. Brencherly and the
doctor tell me that everything's being done. But I'm al