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The young lady’s face blanched slightly and she seemed to catch her breath for an instant, but she kept her composure admirably in spite of the evident shock of Craig’s purposely abrupt question.

“I have heard of her,” Miss Lovelace replied with forced calmness as he continued to look to her for an answer. “Why do you ask?”

“Because a woman who is supposed to be Madame de Nevers has committed suicide at the Vanderveer and it was thought that perhaps you could identify her.”

By this time she had become perfect mistress of herself again, from which I argued that whatever knowledge she had of Madame was limited to the time before the tragedy.

“I, identify her? Why, I never saw her. I simply know that such a creature exists.

She said it defiantly and with an iciness which showed more plainly than in mere words that she scorned even an acquaintance with a demi-mondaine.

“Do you suppose the Duc de Chateaurouge would be able to identify her?” asked Kennedy mercilessly. “One moment, please,” he added, anticipating the blank look of amazement on her face. “I have reason to believe that the duke is in this country incognito – is he not?”

Instead of speaking she merely raised her shoulders a fraction of an inch.

“Either in New York or in Washington,” pursued Kennedy.

“Why do you ask me?” she said at length. “Isn’t it enough that some of the newspapers have said so? If you see it in the newspapers, it’s so – perhaps – isn’t it?”

We were getting nowhere in this interview, at least so I thought. Kennedy cut it short, especially as he noted the evident restlessness of Mrs. Lovelace. However, he had gained his point. Whether or not the duke was in New York or Washington or Spitzbergen, he now felt sure that Miss Lovelace knew of, and perhaps something about, Madame de Nevers. In some way the dead woman had communicated with her and Miss Lovelace had been the woman whom the hotel clerk had seen at the Vanderveer. We withdrew as gracefully as our awkward position permitted.

As there was nothing else to be done at that late hour, Craig decided to sleep soundly over the case, his infallible method of taking a fresh start after he had run up a cul-de-sac.

Imagine our surprise in the morning at being waited on by the coroner himself, who in a few words explained that he was far from satisfied with the progress his own office was making with the case.

“You understand,” he concluded after a lengthy statement of confession and avoidance, “we have no very good laboratory facilities of our own to carry out the necessary chemical, pathological, and bacteriological investigations in cases of homicide and suicide. We are often forced to resort to private laboratories, as you know in the past when I have had to appeal to you. Now, Professor Kennedy, if we might turn over that research part of the case to you, sir, I will engage to see that a reasonable bill for your professional services goes through the office of my friend the city comptroller promptly.”

Craig snapped at the opportunity, though he did not allow the coroner to gain that impression.

“Very well,” agreed that official, ” I shall see that all the necessary organs for a thorough test as to the cause of the death of this woman are sent up to the Chemistry Building right away.”

The coroner was as good as his word, and we had scarcely breakfasted and arrived at Craig’s scientific workshop before that official appeared, accompanied by a man who carried in uncanny jars the necessary materials for an investigation following an autopsy.

Kennedy was now in his element. The case had taken an unexpected turn which made him a leading factor in its solution. Whatever suspicions he may have entertained unofficially the night before he could now openly and quickly verify.