l, that it was all a clever attempt at notoriety, to
get our names in the papers. Some have said it was a plan to collect the
burglary insurance. But we are wealthy. They didn't stop to think how
inconceivable that was. We have nothing to lose, even if the necklace is
never heard of again."

For the moment her indignation had got the better of her worry. Most
opinions, I recalled, had been finally that the disappearance was mixed
up with some family affairs. At any rate, here was to be the real story
at last. I dissembled my interest. Mrs. Brackett's indignation was
quickly succeeded by the more poignant feelings that had brought her to
Kennedy.

"You see," she continued, now almost sobbing, "it is really all, I fear,
my own fault. I didn't realize that Gloria was growing so fast and so
far out of my life. I've let her be brought up by governesses and
servants. I've sent her to the best schools I could find. I thought it
was all right. But now, too late, I realize that it is all wrong. I
haven't kept close enough to her."

She was rattling on in this disjointed manner, getting more and more
excited, but still Kennedy made no effort to lead the conversation.

"I didn't think Gloria was more than a child. But--why, Mr. Kennedy,
she's been going, I find, to these afternoon dances in the city and out
at a place not far from Willys Hills."

"What sort of places?" prompted Kennedy.

"The Cabaret Rouge," answered Mrs. Brackett, flashing at us a look of
defiance that really masked fear of public opinion.

I knew of the place. It had an extremely unsavory reputation. In fact
there were two places of the same name, one in the city and the other
out on Long Island.

Mrs. Brackett must have seen Kennedy and me exchange a look askance at
the name.

"Oh, it's not a question of morals, alone," she hastened. "After all,
sometimes common sense and foolishness are fair equivalents for right
and wrong."

Kennedy looked up quickly, genuinely surprised at this bit of worldly
wisdom.

"When women do stupid, dangerous things, trouble follows," she
persisted, adding, "if not at once, a bit later. This is a case of it."

One could not help feeling sorry for the woman and what she had to face.

"I had hoped, oh, so dearly," she went on a moment later, "that Gloria
would marry a young man who, I know, is devoted to her, an Italian of
fine family, Signor Franconi--you must have heard of him--the inventor
of a new system of wireles