It was still early in the evening, and Kennedy had not come in,
nor had he sent any word to our apartment. O'Connor had already
tried the laboratory. As for myself, I had not the slightest idea
where Craig was. I knew the case must be urgent if both the deputy
and the coroner were waiting for him. Still, after half an hour's
vigorous telephoning, I was unable to find a trace of Kennedy in
any of his usual haunts.

In desperation I left a message for him with the hall-boy in case
he called up, jumped into a cab, and rode over to the laboratory,
hoping that some of the care-takers might still be about and might
know something of his whereabouts. The janitor was able to
enlighten me to the extent of telling me that a big limousine had
called for Kennedy an hour or so before, and that he had left in
great haste.

I had given it up as hopeless and had driven back to the apartment
to wait for him, when the hall-boy made a rush at me just as I was
paying my fare.

"Mr. Kennedy on the wire, sir," he cried as he half dragged me
into the hall.

"Walter," almost shouted Kennedy, "I'm over at the Washington
Heights Hospital with Dr. Barron--you remember Barron, in our
class at college? He has a very peculiar case of a poor girl whom
he found wandering on the street and brought here. Most unusual
thing. He came over to the laboratory after me in his car. Yes, I
have the message that you left with the hall-boy. Come up here and
pick me up, and we'll ride right down to the Novella. Goodbye."