“Sure,” answered O’Connor, and within five minutes we were hurrying down town in one of the department automobiles.

We found the office under guard of one of the Central Office men, while in the outside office Parker’s confidential clerk and a few assistants were still at work in a subdued and awed manner.  Men were working in many other Wall Street offices that night during the panic, but in none was there more reason for it than here.  Later I learned that it was the quiet tenacity of this confidential clerk that saved even as much of Parker’s estate as was saved for his widow—­little enough it was, too.  What he saved for the clients of the firm no one will ever know.  Somehow or other I liked John Downey, the clerk, from the moment I was introduced to him.  He seemed to me, at least, to be the typical confidential clerk who would carry a secret worth millions and keep it.

The officer in charge touched his hat to the inspector, and Downey hastened to put himself at our service.  It was plain that the murder had completely mystified him, and that he was as anxious as we were to get at the bottom of it.

“Mr. Downey,” began Kennedy, “I understand you were present when this sad event took place.”

“Yes, sir, sitting right here at the directors’ table,” he replied, taking a chair, “like this.”

“Now can you recollect just how Mr. Parker acted when he was shot?  Could you—­er—­could you take his place and show us just how it happened?”

“Yes, sir,” said Downey.  “He was sitting here at the head of the table.  Mr. Bruce, who is the ‘Co.’ of the firm, had been sitting here at his right; I was at the left.  The inspector has a list of all the others present.  That door to the right was open, and Mrs. Parker and some other ladies were in the room—­”

“Mrs. Parker?” broke in Kennedy.

“Yes.  Like a good many brokerage firms we have a ladies’ room.  Many ladies are among our clients.  We make a point of catering to them.  At that time I recollect the door was open—­all the doors were open.  It was not a secret meeting.  Mr. Bruce had just gone into the ladies’ department, I think to ask some of them to stand by the firm—­he was an artist at smoothing over the fears of customers, particularly women.  Just before he went in I had seen the ladies go in a group toward the far end of the room—­to look down at the line of depositors on the street, which reached around the corner from one of the trust companies, I thought.  I was making a note of an order to send into the outside office there on the left, and had just pushed this button here under the table to call a boy to carry it.  Mr. Parker had just received a letter by special delivery, and seemed considerably puzzled over it.  No, I don’t know what it was about.  Of a sudden I saw him start in his chair, rise up unsteadily, clap his hand on the back of his head, stagger across the floor—­like this—­and fall here.”