are close to him, they may force him to take them into partnership
in the deals."

Carton looked from Kennedy to me, to see what impression his
theory made. On me at least it did make an impression. Hartley
Langhorne, I knew, was a Wall Street broker and speculator who
dealt in real estate, securities, in fact in anything that would
appeal to a plunger as promising a quick and easy return.

Kennedy made no direct comment on the theory. "In what shape is
the record, do you suppose?" he asked merely.

"I gathered from Mrs. Ogleby," returned Carton watchfully, "that
it had been taken down by a stenographer at the receiving end of
the detectaphone, transcribed in typewriting, and loosely bound in
a book of limp black leather. Oh," he concluded, "Dorgan would
give almost anything to find out what is in that little record,
you may be sure. Perhaps even, rather than have such a thing out,
he would come to terms with Langhorne."

Kennedy said nothing. He was merely absorbing the case as Carton
presented it.

"Don't you see?" continued the District Attorney, pacing his
office and gazing now and then out of the window, "here's this
record hidden away somewhere in the city. If I could only get it--
I'd win my fight against Dorgan--and Mrs. Ogleby need not suffer
for her mistake in coming to me, at all."

He was apparently thinking aloud. Kennedy did not attempt to quiz