“I know it.  That’s a pretty swift bunch of females that have been speculating at Kerr Parker & Co.’s.  I understand there’s one Titian-haired young lady—­who, by the way, has at least one husband who hasn’t yet been divorced—­who is a sort of ringleader, though she rarely goes personally to her brokers’ offices.  She’s one of those uptown plungers, and the story is that she has a whole string of scalps of alleged Sunday-school superintendents at her belt.  She can make Bruce do pretty nearly anything, they say.  He’s the latest conquest.  I got the story on pretty good authority, but until I verified the names, dates, and places, of course I wouldn’t dare print a line of it.  The story goes that her husband is a hanger-on of the System, and that she’s been working in their interest, too.  That was why he was so complacent over the whole affair.  They put her up to capturing Bruce, and after she had acquired an influence over him they worked it so that she made him make love to Mrs. Parker.  It’s a long story, but that isn’t all of it.  The point was, you see, that by this devious route they hoped to worm out of Mrs. Parker some inside information about Parker’s rubber schemes, which he hadn’t divulged even to his partners in business.  It was a deep and carefully planned plot, and some of the conspirators were pretty deeply in the mire, I guess.  I wish I’d had all the facts about who this red-haired female Machiavelli was—­what a piece of muckraking it would have made!  Oh, here comes the rest of the news story over the wire.  By Jove, it is said on good authority that Bruce will be taken in as one of the board of directors.  What do you think of that?”

So that was how the wind lay—­Bruce making love to Mrs. Parker and she presumably betraying her husband’s secrets.  I thought I saw it all:  the note from somebody exposing the scheme, Parker’s incredulity, Bruce sitting by him and catching sight of the note, his hurrying out into the ladies’ department, and then the shot.  But who fired it?  After all, I had only picked up another clue.

Kennedy was not at the apartment at dinner, and an inquiry at the laboratory was fruitless also.  So I sat down to fidget for a while.  Pretty soon the buzzer on the door sounded, and I opened it to find a messenger-boy with a large brown paper parcel.

“Is Mr. Bruce here?” he asked.

“Why, no, he doesn’t—­” then I checked myself and added “He will be here presently.  You can leave the bundle.”

“Well, this is the parcel he telephoned for.  His valet told me to tell him that they had a hard time to find it, but he guesses it’s all right.  The charges are forty cents.  Sign here.”

I signed the book, feeling like a thief, and the boy departed.  What it all meant I could not guess.

Just then I heard a key in the lock, and Kennedy came in.

“Is your name Bruce?” I asked.

“Why?” he replied eagerly.  “Has anything come?”