the boy departed. What it
all meant I could not guess.

Just then I heard a key in the lock, and Kennedy came in.

"Is your name Bruce?" I asked.

"Why?" he replied eagerly. "Has anything come?"

I pointed to the package. Kennedy made a dive for it and unwrapped it.
It was a woman's pongee automobile-coat. He held it up to the light.
The pocket on the right-hand side was scorched and burned, and a hole
was torn clean through it. I gasped when the full significance of it
dawned on me.

"How did you get it?" I exclaimed at last in surprise.

"That's where organization comes in," said Kennedy. "The police at
my request went over every messenger call from Parker's office that
afternoon, and traced every one of them up. At last they found one
that led to Bruce's apartment. None of them led to Mrs. Parker's home.
The rest were all business calls and satisfactorily accounted for. I
reasoned that this was the one that involved the disappearance of the
automobile-coat. It was a chance worth taking, so I got Downey to call
up Bruce's valet. The valet of course recognized Downey's voice and
suspected nothing. Downey assumed to know all about the coat in the
package received yesterday. He asked to have it sent up here. I see
the scheme worked."

"But, Kennedy, do you think she--" I stopped, speechless, looking at
the scorched coat.

"Nothing to say--yet," he replied laconically. "But if you could tell
me anything about that note Parker received I'd thank you."

I related what our managing editor had said that morning. Kennedy only
raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch.

"I had guessed something of that sort," he said merely. "I'm glad to
find it confirmed even by hearsay evidence. This red-haired young lady
interests me. Not a very definite description, but better than nothing
at all. I wonder who she is. Ah, well, what do you say to a stroll
down the White Way before I go to my laboratory? I'd like a breath of
air to relax my mind."

We had got no further than the first theatre when Kennedy slapped me
on the back. "By George, Jameson, she's an actress, of course."

"Who is? What's the matter with you, Kennedy? Are you crazy?"

"The red-haired person--she must be an actress. Don't you remember the
auburn-haired leading lady in the Follies'--the girl who sings that
song about 'Mary, Mary, quite contrary'? Her stage name, you know, is
Phoebe La Neige. Well, if it's she who is concerned in this case
I don't think