"Good morning, Mr. Titheredge. Did you want to see me?"
"I do, Sergeant; you are the only man who can help me out. Moreover, I know that the case I've got for you—if it is a case at all—will be one after your own heart."
They shook hands; and as the attorney seated himself Sergeant Barry Odell asked with a canny twinkle in his eye:
"A matter for the Homicide Bureau and you're not sure whether it is a case or not? No trace of the body, then?"
"The bodies were there all right," Titheredge responded grimly. "But there was no thought of foul play until last night. You see, I have a client in whose family two deaths have occurred within the past month, but they were thought to have been the result of accident; separate accidents of a widely different nature. Now we have reason to believe that they were brought about in some mysterious manner by an unknown person who seems determined to kill off the entire family. These people have been friends of mine for years as well as clients, and as far as I know they haven't an enemy in the world. We haven't a sign of proof and no clue except some pieces of clipped wire. Could I go to any other man in the department but you with such a story and not be a laughing-stock?"
Odell smiled, but his face grew serious as he replied:
"I don't know, sir, but I've been wondering myself why we hadn't seen Mr. Lorne down here before this."
"You!" Titheredge's imperturbability deserted him, and he stared. "What on earth do you know about it?"
"Only what I've read in the papers, but when I saw about that young fellow cutting his throat by accident and just in the place where it would do the most good—or harm
