on the trail."

Shirley lowered his high-ball glass, with an earnest stare.

"What was the idea?"

"Robbery, of course. His son had me on the case--'phoned from the
garage where the chauffeur brought the body; after he saw the old man
unconscious. Just half an hour before he had left his office in the same
machine, after taking five thousand dollars in cash from his manager."

"Who was with him?"

"Now, that's getting to brass tacks. When I gets that C.Q.D. from
Van Cleft, I finds the young fellow inside the ring of rubbernecks,
blubbering over the old man, where he lies on the floor of the
taxi--looking soused."

"He was a notorious old sport about town, Captain."

"Sure--and I thinks, it sorter serves him right. But, that's his
funeral, not mine. Van Cleft, junior, says to me: 'There's the girl that
was with him.'"

"Where was the girl?"

"She was sitting on a stool, near the car, a little blonde chorus
chicken, shaking and twitching, while the chauffeur and the garage boss
held her up. I says, 'What's this?' and Van Cleft tells me all he knows,
which ain't nothing. Them guys in that garage was wise, for it meant a
cold five hundred apiece before I left to keep their lids closed. Van
Cleft begs me to hustle the old man home, so one of my men takes her
down to my office, still a sniffling, and acting like she had the
D.T.'s. The young fellow shook like a leaf, but we takes him over to
Central Park East, to the family mansion,--carrying him up the steps
like he was drunk. We gets him into his own bed, and keeps the sister
from touching his clammy hands, while she orders the family doctor. When
he gets there on the jump, I gives him the wink and leads him to one
side. 'Doc,' I says, 'you know how to write out a death certificate, to
hush this up from your end. I've done the rest.'"

Captain Cronin leaned forward, a queer excitement agitating him.

"Do you know what that doctor says to me, Monty?"

Shirley shook his head.

He says; "My God, it's the third!"

Shirley's white hand gripped the edge of the table. "The Van Cleft's
doctor is one of the greatest surgeons in the country, Professor
MacDonald of the Medical College. He said that?"

"He did. I answers, 'Whadd'y mean the third?' Then he looks me straight
in the eye, and sings back, 'None of your business.'" Cronin shook
his head. "I never seen a man with a squarer look, and yet he has me
guessing. I goes back to the garage, over past Eighth Avenue,