"A murder is always foul, no matter under what circumstances it is
committed. What do you wish me to do?"

"Find the murderer."

"That may not be easy. Are not other detectives already working on the
case?"

"Yes, but they are only local men and not worth their salt."

"They may be doing all that can be done. It is a mistake to presume
that every mystery of this sort can be solved. Here in New York men go
to their death every year and nobody ever finds out how, or by what
hand."

"But the local men simply jump at conclusions. They are a set of blind
fools, and--" The young man stopped short.

Adam Adams smiled faintly. He knew something of the bungling work done
by detectives of small caliber. Had he not himself once saved a poor
Jew from hanging after several country detectives had apparently proved
the fellow guilty? And had not those same sleuths of the law been
angry at him ever since?

"Excuse me, Mr. Case, but how is it that you take an interest in this
affair?" he asked. "Are you related to the Langmores in any way?"

"I am not." The young man began to blush. "Is it necessary that I
tell you why?" he stammered.