epped back and softly locked the door.

"See here, Mr. Ferris," he soberly said. "You should not leave
till the whole thing's cleared up. If you don't want me to follow
up your private inquiry, just say so." He handed to the astonished
man an evening paper. There, marked with a great scrawl, was a
brief item.

"BODY FOUND IN RIVER"

"Was That of a Young Man of Evidently Good Station--No Clue as to
the Deceased's Identity--Another Mysterious Crime."

"A body was found this morning in the East River off the foot of
Baltic Street, Brooklyn. It was that of a young man about twenty-eight
years of age. The deceased was about five feet eleven inches in
height, of light complexion and brown hair. It was entirely naked
and considerably bruised by the contact of the wharves and passing
vessels. There was no mark found upon the body, which is that of
a man of apparent refinement and one unused to labor. It was found
floating by an Italian boatman and taken to the morgue. It had
been in the water about three weeks."

"Well!" demanded Ferris, his hand trembling, as he handed back
the paper. "I have been on the lookout for your missing cashier,"
quietly answered McNerney, with a searching glance at the agitated
man.

"I have watched the morgue and all the police reports. When I heard
of this, I captured that Jew office boy, ran him over to the morgue
in a coupe, and he and I instantly recognized poor Mr. Clayton.
God rest his soul, all that's left of him!"

Ferris dropped into a chair, shivering violently. "It will be
featured in all the morning papers," coolly continued McNerney.
"There's your problem solved. The poor fellow was decoyed in some
black-hearted, cowardly manner and done up for the stuff. It was
no common gang who fixed him for fair," gloomily concluded the
dissatisfied officer. "There were no marks of violence upon the
body."

Ferris staggered to the sideboard and took a draught of brandy. "I
wash my hands of the whole thing," he huskily said. "If you wish
to follow it up, go and see Stillwell."

"That's all you have to say?" cried the now suspicious policeman.
"I'm sick of the whole job, and shall leave town," sullenly answered
Ferris, as he opened the door and said, "Call our affair off! I'll
telegraph to Stillwell, and he can handle the company's interests."

Dennis McNerney watched Ferris disappear in the swarm of Broadway's
evening loungers, and then directed his steps to Magdal's Pharmacy.
"I'l