The doctor was thoughtful. "You'll have to arrange that yourself," he
answered. "Can't you think up a scheme? For instance, go to him with
a proposal like the old schemes he used to finance. He is very much
interested in electrical inventions. He made his money by speculation
in telegraphs and telephones in the early days when they were more or
less dreams. I should think a wireless system of television might at
least interest him and furnish an excuse for getting in, although I am
told his daughter discourages all tangible investment in the schemes
that used to interest his active mind."

"An excellent idea," exclaimed Kennedy. "It is worth trying anyway.
It is still early. Suppose we ride over to Brooklyn with you. You can
direct us to the house and we'll try to see him."

It was still light when we mounted the high steps of the house of
mystery across the bridge. Mrs. Martin, who met us in the parlor,
proved to be a stunning looking woman with brown hair and beautiful
dark eyes. As far as we could see the old house plainly showed the
change. The furniture and ornaments were of a period long past, but
everything was scrupulously neat. Hanging over the old marble mantel
was a painting which quite evidently was that of the long since
deceased Mrs. Haswell, the mother of Grace. In spite of the hideous
style of dress of the period after the war, she had evidently been a
very beautiful woman with large masses of light chestnut hair and
blue eyes which the painter had succeeded in catching with almost
life-likeness for a portrait.

It took only a few minutes for Kennedy, in his most engaging and
plausible manner, to state the hypothetical reason of our call. Though