"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.
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