“Well, this depression in the market comes along.  At once rumors are spread about the weakness of the trust companies; runs start on both of them.  The System—­you know them—­make a great show of supporting the market.  Yet the runs continue.  God knows whether they will spread or the trust companies stand up under it to-morrow after what happened to-day.  It was a good thing the market was closed when it happened.

“Kerr Parker was surrounded by a group of people who were in his schemes with him.  They are holding a council of war in the directors’ room.  Suddenly Parker rises, staggers toward the window, falls, and is dead before a doctor can get to him.  Every effort is made to keep the thing quiet.  It is given out that he committed suicide.  The papers don’t seem to accept the suicide theory, however.  Neither do we.  The coroner, who is working with us, has kept his month shut so far, and will say nothing till the inquest.  For, Professor Kennedy, my first man on the spot found that—­Kerr—­Parker—­was—­murdered.

“Now here comes the amazing part of the story.  The doors to the offices on both sides were open at the time.  There were lots of people in each office.  There was the usual click of typewriters, and the buzz of the ticker, and the hum of conversation.  We have any number of witnesses of the whole affair, but as far as any of them knows no shot was fired, no smoke was seen, no noise was heard, nor was any weapon found.  Yet here on my desk is a thirty-two calibre bullet.  The coroner’s physician probed it out of Parker’s neck this afternoon and turned it over to us.”

Kennedy reached for the bullet, and turned it thoughtfully in his fingers for a moment.  One side of it had apparently struck a bone in the neck of the murdered man, and was flattened.  The other side was still perfectly smooth.  With his inevitable magnifying-glass he scrutinized the bullet on every side.  I watched his face anxiously, and I could see that he was very intent and very excited.

“Extraordinary, most extraordinary,” he said to himself as he turned it over and over.  “Where did you say this bullet struck?”

“In the fleshy part of the neck, quite a little back of and below his ear and just above his collar.  There wasn’t much bleeding.  I think it must have struck the base of his brain.”

“It didn’t strike his collar or hair?”

“No,” replied the inspector.

“Inspector, I think we shall be able to put our hand on the murderer—­I think we can get a conviction, sir, on the evidence that I shall get from this bullet in my laboratory.”

“That’s pretty much like a story-book,” drawled the inspector incredulously, shaking his head.

“Perhaps,” smiled Kennedy.  “But there will still be plenty of work for the police to do, too.  I’ve only got a clue to the murderer.  It will tax the whole organization to follow it up, believe me.  Now, Inspector, can you spare the time to go down to Parker’s office and take me over the ground?  No doubt we can develop something else there.”