"

"Martin Ogleby!" interrupted Carton in surprise.

"Yes, Martin Ogleby. He hangs about the Montmartre and the
Futurist, all those joints. Say--I've been thinking a heap since
this case of mine came up. I wonder whether it was all on the
level--with me. I gave the money. But was that a stall? Perhaps
they tried to get back. Perhaps she played into their hands--I saw
her watching the sports, there, and believe me, there are some
swell lookers. Oh well, _I_ don't know. All I know is my part. I
don't know anything that happened after that. I can't tell what I
don't know, can I, Mr. Carton?"

"Not very well," smiled the prosecutor. "But you can tell us
anything you suspect."

"I don't know what I suspect. I was only a part of the machine.
Only after I read that she disappeared, I began to think there
might have been some funny business--I don't know."

Eager as we were, we could only accept this unsatisfactory
explanation of the whereabouts of Betty.

"After all, I was only a part," reiterated Jack. "You better ask
Ike--that's all."

Just then the telephone buzzed. Carton was busy and Kennedy, who
happened to be nearest, answered it. I fancied that there was a
puzzled expression on his face, as he placed his hand over the