"
We started on our usual brisk roundabout walk to the apartment.
But instead of going to bed, Kennedy drew a book from the
bookcase.
"I shall read myself to sleep to-night," he explained, settling
deeply in his chair.
As for me, I went directly to my room, planning that to-morrow I
would take several hours off and catch up in my notes.
That morning Kennedy was summoned downtown and had to interrupt
more important duties in order to appear before Dr. Leslie in the
coroner's inquest over the death of the chef. Dr. Lord was held
for the Grand Jury, but it was not until nearly noon that Craig
returned.
We were just about to go out to luncheon, when the door buzzer
sounded.
"A note for Mr. Kennedy," announced a man in a police uniform,
with a blue anchor edged with white on his coat sleeve.
Craig tore open the envelope quickly with his forefinger. Headed
"Harbour Police, Station No. 3, Staten Island," was an urgent
message from our old friend Deputy Commissioner O'Connor.
"I have taken personal charge of a case here that is sufficiently
out of the ordinary to interest you," I read when Kennedy tossed
the note over to me and nodded to the man from the harbour squad
to wait for us.
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