It was a common saying that, if Minturn should tell all he knew,
he might hang half a dozen prominent men in society. That was not
strictly true, perhaps, but it was certain that a revelation of
the things confided to him by clients which were never put down on
paper would have caused a series of explosions that would have
wrecked at least some portions of the social and financial world.
He had heard much and told little, for he had been a sort of
"father confessor."

Had Minturn, I wondered, known the name of the real criminal?

Josephson's was a popular bath on Forty-second Street, where many
of the "sun-dodgers" were accustomed to recuperate during the day
from their arduous pursuit of pleasure at night and prepare for
the resumption of their toil during the coming night. It was more
than that, however, for it had a reputation for being conducted
really on a high plane.

We met Josephson downstairs. He had been released under bail,
though the place was temporarily closed and watched over by the
agents of the coroner and the police. Josephson appeared to be a
man of some education and quite different from what I had imagined
from hearing him over the telephone.

"Oh, Mr. Kennedy," he exclaimed, "who now will come to my baths?
Last night they were crowded, but to-day--"

He ended with an expressive gesture of his hands.

"One customer I have surely lost, young Mr. Pearcy," he went on.