“I did. He⁠—I told you my father is Mr. Elihu’s secretary. He and Mr. Donald had an engagement for the early part of the evening⁠—something about the paper’s finances. Father came in a little after five. They were going to dinner together, I think.”

That was all the Lewis girl could give me. She knew nothing that would explain Willsson’s presence in the eleven-hundred block of Hurricane Street, she said. She admitted knowing nothing about Mrs. Willsson.

We frisked the dead man’s desk, and dug up nothing in any way informative. I went up against the girls at the switchboard, and learned nothing. I put in an hour’s work on messengers, city editors, and the like, and my pumping brought up nothing. The dead man, as his secretary said, had been a good hand at keeping his affairs to himself.