"It's getting more and more complicated, Walter," he exclaimed.
"After you left I remembered that there was one point of
investigation I had failed to cover--Miss Lamar's home here in
the city. I got our old friend, First-Deputy O'Connor, on the
wire and learned that at the request of Mackay, from Tarrytown,
they had sent a man up to the place and that just an hour or less
before I called they had located and were holding her colored
maid. I hurried down to headquarters and questioned the girl."
"Yes?" To me it sounded promising.
"The negress didn't know a thing so far as the crime is
concerned," Kennedy went on, "but I gained quite an insight into
the private life of the star."
"You mean--"
"I mean I know the men who went to Miss Lamar's apartment,
although beyond the fact of her receiving them I can tell
nothing, for she sent the maid home at night; there were no
maid's quarters."
"Their visits may have been perfectly innocent?"
"Of course! We can only draw conclusions."
"Who were the various callers?"
"Jack Gordon--"
"Her fiance!"
"Merle Shirley--"
"Shirley admitted it when you questioned him."
"Manton--"
"Everyone knows that!"
"Werner--" A side glance at me.
I said nothing. My expression spoke for me.
"And Emery Phelps!"
At that I did show surprise. Although Mackay had hinted at
something of the kind, I, for one, had not considered the banker
seriously.
"Good heavens! Kennedy," I exploded.
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