fe living. Since then he
had been divorced. Although he had promised to marry Cecilie when the
divorce was obtained, he was now engaged to marry a wealthy girl, Amelie
Guernsey.

Broadhurst returned shortly for us, and we made another tour of the
stable, on the outside, including the quarters of the innumerable
employees. Finally, at a hint from Kennedy that we had seen enough for
the present, Broadhurst motored back to the city with us.

CHAPTER XVII

THE INTER-URBAN HANDICAP

That night, instead of going to the laboratory, we walked down Broadway
until we came to a hotel much frequented by the sporting fraternity.

We entered the restaurant, which was one of the most brilliant in the
white-light region, took a seat at a table, and Kennedy proceeded to
ingratiate himself with the waiter, and, finally, with the head waiter.
At last, I saw why Kennedy was apparently wasting so much time over
dinner.

"Do you happen to know that girl, Cecilie Safford, that Broadhurst's
trainer, Murchie, eloped with?" he asked.

The head waiter nodded.

"I used to know her," he replied. "She used to come in here a good deal,
but you won't find her in the Broadway places any more these days. She's
more likely to be over on Eighth Avenue." He mentioned the name of a
cabaret saloon.

Kennedy paid the check and again we started out. We finally entered a
place, down in a basement, and once more Kennedy began to quiz the
waiter.

This time he had no trouble. Across the room, the waiter pointed to a
girl, seated with a young fellow at a round table. I could scarcely
believe what I saw. The face had the same features as that of the
photograph in the oval gilt frame in Murchie's apartment, but it was not
the same face.

As I studied her, I could imagine her story without even hearing it. The
months of waiting for Murchie to marry her and his callous refusal had
been her ruin. Cecilie had learned to drink, and from that had gone to
drugs.

Her mirror must have told her that she was not the same girl who had
eloped with Murchie. Her figure had lost its slim, beautiful lines. Her
features were bloated. Her eyes were smaller, and her lips were heavy.
Her fresh color had disappeared. She had a gray, pasty look. All she
had--her beauty--had vanished.

Murchie had been divorced, and was about to marry--but not Cecilie. It
was to a young and lovely girl, with such a face of innocence as Cecilie
had when Murchie had first dictated