"Excuse me, Mr. Kennedy," he apologized, as we approached. "I should have come to you instead of making you two walk over to me, but it's less suspicious this way."
"What do you mean?"
"You recognize me, McGroarty, the chauffeur as found the little bottle?"
Kennedy nodded.
"Well, I says to myself I ought to tell you, but I don't like to because it might be nothing, you know!"
"It might prove very valuable, McGroarty." Kennedy wanted to encourage him.
"Well, I've been sitting here for an hour, I guess. One of the other directors is going out to-day and his people are late and so here I am. Well, I don't like the way the heavy man Mr. Werner had—"
"Shirley? Merle Shirley?" I spoke up.
"That's him! Well, he's been, hanging and snooping around that building over there, where you just saw him, for twenty minutes or more. I guess he's gone in and out of that basement a dozen times. I says to myself, maybe he's up to something. You know how it is?"
Kennedy glanced at me significantly. Then he extended his hand to the chauffeur. "Again I thank you, McGroarty. As I said before, I won't forget you."