Mr. Gilbert was in the dry-goods business in a loft building in the new dry-goods section on Fourth Avenue.  One could almost feel that a tragedy had invaded even his place of business.  As we entered, we could see groups of clerks, evidently discussing the case.  It was no wonder, I felt, for the head of the firm was almost frantic, and beside the loss of his only daughter the loss of his business would count as nothing, at least until the keen edge of his grief was worn off.

“Mr. Gilbert is out,” replied his secretary, in answer to our inquiry.  “Haven’t you heard?  They have just discovered the body of his daughter in a lonely spot in the Croton Aqueduct.  The report came in from the police just a few minutes ago.  It is thought that she was murdered in the city and carried there in an automobile.”

The news came with a stinging shock.  I felt that, after all, we were too late.  In another hour the extras would be out, and the news would be spread broadcast.  The affair would be in the hands of the amateur detectives, and there was no telling how many promising clues might be lost.

“Dead!” exclaimed Kennedy, as he jammed his hat on his head and bolted for the door.  “Hurry, Walter.  We must get there before the coroner makes his examination.”

I don’t know how we managed to do it, but by dint of subway, elevated, and taxicab we arrived on the scene of the tragedy not very long after the coroner.  Mr. Gilbert was there, silent, and looking as if he had aged many years since the night before; his hand shook and he could merely nod recognition to us.

Already the body had been carried to a rough shanty in the neighbourhood, and the coroner was questioning those who had made the discovery, a party of Italian labourers on the water improvement near by.  They were a vicious looking crew, but they could tell nothing beyond the fact that one of them had discovered the body in a thicket where it could not possibly have lain longer than overnight.  There was no reason, as yet, to suspect any of them, and indeed, as a much travelled automobile road ran within a few feet of the thicket, there was every reason to believe that the murder, if murder it was, had been committed elsewhere and that the perpetrator had taken this means of getting rid of his unfortunate victim.

Drawn and contorted were the features of the poor girl, as if she had died in great physical agony or after a terrific struggle.  Indeed, marks of violence on her delicate throat and neck showed only too plainly that she had been choked.

As Kennedy bent over the form of the once lovely Georgette, he noted the clenched hands.  Then he looked at them more closely.  I was standing a little behind him, for though Craig and I had been through many thrilling adventures, the death of a human being, especially of a girl like Miss Gilbert, filled me with horror and revulsion.  I could see, however, that he had noted something unusual.  He pulled out a little pocket magnifying glass and made an even more minute examination of the hands.  At last he rose and faced us, almost as if in triumph.  I could not see what he had discovered—­at least it did not seem to be anything tangible, like a weapon.