“Have you any suspicions, Nick, as to their identity?” Chick inquired. “Aside from Cora Cavendish?” “Certainly.” “Yes.” “On what do you base it, and whom have you in mind?” “To begin with, Chick, I base it on the probable existence of the Madison letters, and the fact that they were missing this morning from Tilly Lancey’s desk. Bear in mind that she told Gordon about them and invited him to her flat to read them. She may have told Cora Cavendish about them, also, and if double-crossed by the latter, as I suspect, she certainly had no apprehension of being murdered when she invited Gordon to her flat.” “Surely not.” “It is a safe assumption, then, that the package of letters was in her desk last evening, as she told him.” “True.” “That is further confirmed by the fact that the desk was broken open by her assailants, who probably could not find the key. If the murder of Tilly Lancey was their only object, they would not have broken open the desk.” “True again,” Chick nodded. “There was a package of compromising letters, then, and they now are in the hands of the woman’s assassins--barring one very possible contingency.” “What is that?” “That the man who wrote them, whose reputation they evidently involved, was back of the whole job in order to get the letters, and to incriminate Arthur Gordon as to insure his defeat in the coming election. He now may have the letters.” “Jack Madison,” said Chick. “Yes.” “It seems incredible that he----” “Oh, I anticipate your objection,” Nick interrupted. “But as I told you this morning, Chick, men with political ambitions, some men, I mean, are capable of any degree of knavery.” “That’s right, too, chief,” declared Patsy. “Madison is a strong, aggressive, bulldog type of man, and his standing as a lawyer is far from the best,” Nick added. “He was abroad without his wife and family for several weeks last year and I happen to know that Tilly Lancey then was absent from New York. They returned at pretty near the same time. One must draw one’s own conclusions. Be that as it may, I suspect Madison of knowing something about this affair, whether he was responsible for it, or not.” “My money goes on that, chief,” said Patsy. “We must get after him.” “I intend doing so.” “Have you any other suspicions?” “One other, Chick.” “Namely?” “It is rather more than a suspicion,” Nick continued, with brows drooping. “I felt it vaguely this morning, but I then was in too great haste to be deeply enough impressed to act upon it, or rightly interpret it.” “When do you mean?” “When I returned from police headquarters and found that reporter, Hawley, still waiting at Tilly Lancey’s door,” said Nick. “I feel sure, now, that I know why he was there, and how he happened to be there so far in advance of other genuine reporters.” “Genuine?” “That’s the word.” “You think he is not a reporter.”