I was Central in Longwood, since I'd come
back we'd met up and renewed the old friendship. Having the fatality
happen so close to her fanned my interest considerable and I reached
across and picked up one of the papers.

The first thing my eye lit on was a picture of Hollings Harland--a fine
looking, smooth-shaven man.

When I saw the two long columns about him I realized what an important
person he was and why Babbitts was so mad he'd missed the detail.
Besides his own picture there was one of his house--an elegant residence
on Riverside Drive, full of pictures and statuary, and a library he'd
taken years to collect. Then there was all about him and his life. He
was forty-six years of age and though small in stature, a fine physical
specimen, never showing, no matterthe coop there'll be the devil to pay in Wall
Street." He gave my shoulder a pat. "Well, we'll see today and the
sooner I get on the scene of action the sooner I'll know. Good-by, my
Morningdew.--Kiss me and speed me on my perilous way."

After he'd gone I tidied up the place, had the morning powwow with
Isabella, and then drifted into the parlor. The sun was slanting bright
through the windows and as I stood looking out at the thin covering of
ice, glittering here and there on the roofs--there'd been rain before
the frost--I got the idea I ought to go down and see Iola. She was a
frail, high-strung little body and what had happened last night in the
Black Eagle Building would put a crimp in her nerves for days to come,
especially