develop something else there."

"Sure," answered O'Connor, and within five minutes we were
hurrying down town in one of the department automobiles.

We found the office under guard of one of the Central Office men,
while in the outside office Parker's confidential clerk and a few
assistants were still at work in a subdued and awed manner. Men
were working in many other Wall Street offices that night during
the panic, but in none was there more reason for it than here.
Later I learned that it was the quiet tenacity of this
confidential clerk that saved even as much of Parker's estate as
was saved for his widow--little enough it was, too. What he saved
for the clients of the firm no one will ever know. Somehow or
other I liked John Downey, the clerk, from the moment I was
introduced to him. He seemed to me, at least, to be the typical
confidential clerk who would carry a secret worth millions and
keep it.

The officer in charge touched his hat to the inspector, and
Downey hastened to put himself at our service. It was plain that
the murder had completely mystified him, and that he was as
anxious as we were to get at the bottom of it.

"Mr. Downey," began Kennedy, "I understand you were present when
this sad event took place."

"Yes, sir, sitting right here at the directors' table," he
replied, taking a chair, "like this."