“Yes,” she repeated, “Phelps is terribly hard up and after Gordon.  And that’s not all about our handsome leading man, Mr. Kennedy.”  She leaned forward.  A certain intensity crept into her voice.  She began to toy with his sleeve with the slender fingers of one hand, as though in that manner to compel his greater attention.  “You know Stella Lamar really was in love with Jack Gordon.  In fact she was daffy over him.  And now I’ve found out that he was borrowing money from her, was taking nearly every cent she earned to sink in his speculations.  Do you get that?” Enid’s eyes snapped.

Most certainly I understood.  I knew well the type of Stella.  She had made many men give up to her motor cars, expensive furs, jewelry, all manner of presents.  But in the end she had found one man to whom she in turn was willing to yield all.  But what of him?

“In the last few weeks, they tell me, poor Stella disposed of many of her handsome presents from men like Manton and Phelps and others, all to get money to give to him.  At the end she even raised money on her jewelry.  I—­I think you’ll find it all in pawn now, if you’ll investigate.  I don’t doubt but that poor Stella died without a penny to her name.”

I was so surprised at this information that I failed to study Kennedy’s face.  I was completely jolted from my own rapt contemplation of the very soft curves of Enid’s back.  For here was a motive at last!  Gordon was a possible suspect I had failed to take even halfway seriously.  Yet the leading man was desperately pressed for money, had had a disgraceful fight with Phelps as we already knew; and not only owed huge sums to his fiancee as Enid now explained, but had quarreled with her just prior to her death, according to his own admission in the investigation at Tarrytown.

Suddenly the music struck up once more.  Enid rose, adjusting the straps of her gown.

“There!” she exclaimed, smiling abruptly.  “I thought you ought to know that, though I hate to peddle gossip.  Now I must hurry back.  I’ve been away long enough.  But come down later and dance.”

She swept off without further formality.  An instant afterward we saw her in the clasp of Millard once again.  We watched during the number and encore; then Kennedy called for the check.

“Let’s go up to the apartment,” he suggested.  “I’d like to talk some of these things out with you.  It will help me clarify my own impressions.”

Underneath the balcony I noticed Kennedy turn for a last glance at Manton’s party.  I paused to look, also.  Enid was leaning forward, talking to Millard earnestly, emphasizing what she had to say with characteristic movements of her head.

“She’s pumping Millard for more information about Stella Lamar,” I remarked.

Kennedy had no comment.

XVII

AN APPEAL

We strolled up Broadway, resisting the attraction of a garish new motion-picture palace at which Manton’s previous release with Stella Lamar was now showing to capacity—­much to the delight of the exhibitor who greatly complimented himself on his good fortune in being able to take advantage of the newspaper sensation over the affair.