"Come, Walter," he cried, hastily stuffing in a package of clean
laundry without taking off the wrapping-paper, "I've got your
suit-case out. Pack up whatever you can in five minutes. We must
take the six o'clock train for Danbridge."
I did not wait to hear any more. The mere mention of the name of
the quaint and quiet little Connecticut town was sufficient. For
Danbridge was on everybody's lips at that time. It was the scene
of the now famous Danbridge poisoning case - a brutal case in which
the pretty little actress, Vera Lytton, had been the victim.
"I've been retained by Senator Adrian Willard," he called from his
room, as I was busy packing in mine. The Willard family believe
that that young Dr. Dixon is the victim of a conspiracy - or at
least Alma Willard does, which comes to the same thing, and - well,
the senator called me up on long-distance and offered me anything
I would name in reason to take the case. Are you ready? Come on,
then. We've simply got to make that train."
As we settled ourselves in the smoking-compartment of the Pullman,
which for some reason or other we had to ourselves, Kennedy spoke
again for the first time since our frantic dash across the city to
catch the train.
"Now let us see, Walter," he began.
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