On we walked, Kennedy mostly in silent deduction, I knew, until we came to the upper regions of the great thoroughfare, turned off, and headed toward our apartment on the Heights, not far from the university.

We had scarcely settled ourselves for a quiet hour in our quarters when the telephone rang.  I answered.  To my amazement I found that it was Marilyn Loring.

“Is Professor Kennedy in?” she asked.

“Yes, Miss Loring.  Just a—­”

“Never mind calling him to the phone, Mr. Jameson.  I’ve been trying to find him all evening.  He was not at the laboratory, although I waited over an hour.  Just tell him that there’s something I am very anxious to consult him about.  Ask him if it will be all right for me to run up to see him just a few minutes.”

I explained to Kennedy.

“Let her come along,” he said, as surprised as I was.  Then he added, humorously, “I seem to be father confessor to-night.”

After sinking back in my seat in comfort once more I observed a quiet elation in Kennedy’s manner.  All at once it struck me what he was doing.  The multitude of considerations in this case, the many cross leads to be followed, had confused me.  But now I realized that, after all, this was only the approved Kennedy method, the mode of procedure which had never failed to produce results for him.  Without allowing himself to be disturbed by the great number of people concerned, he had calmly started to pit them one against the other, encouraging each to talk about the rest, making a show of his apparent inaction and lack of haste so that they, in turn, would shake off the excitement immediately following the death of the girl and thereby reveal their normal selves to his keen observation.

Not five minutes passed before Marilyn was announced.  Evidently she had been seeking us eagerly, for she had probably telephoned from a near-by pay station.

“Mr. Kennedy,” she began, “I am going to find this very hard to say.”

“Really,” he assured her, “there is no reason why you should not repose your confidence in me.  My only interest is to solve the mystery and to see that justice is satisfied.  Beyond that nothing would give me greater happiness than to be of service to you.”

“It’s—­it’s about Merle Shirley—­” she started, bravely.  Then all at once she broke down.  The strain of two days had been too much for her.

Kennedy lighted a fresh cigar, realizing that he could best aid her to recover her composure by making no effort to do so.  For several moments she sobbed silently, a handkerchief at her eyes.  Then she straightened, with a half smile, dabbing at the drops of moisture remaining.  With her wet eyes and flushed cheeks she was revealed to me again as a very genuine girl, wholly unspoiled by her outward mask of sophistication.  Furthermore, at this instant she was gloriously pretty.

“Again—­why do you play vampire roles, Miss Loring?” I asked, as quickly as the thought flashed to me.  “I think you’d be an ideal ingenue!”