The mere mention of the name conjured up in my mind a picture of the lusty two-year-old heir of two fortunes, as the feature articles in the Star had described that little scion of wealth—his luxurious nursery, his magnificent toys, his own motor car, a trained nurse and a detective on guard every hour of the day and night, every possible precaution for his health and safety.
“Gad, what a lucky kid!” I exclaimed involuntarily.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” put in Kennedy. “The fortune may be exaggerated. His happiness is, I’m sure.”
He had pulled from his pocketbook a card and handed it to me. It read: “Gilbert Butler, American representative, Lloyd’s.”
“Lloyd’s?” I queried. “What has Lloyd’s to do with the billion-dollar baby?”
“Very much. The child has been insured with them for some fabulous sum against accident, including kidnaping.”
“Yes?” I prompted, “sensing” a story.
“Well, there seem to have been threats of some kind, I understand. Mr. Butler has called on me once already to-day to retain my services and is going to—ah—there he is again now.”
Kennedy had answered the door buzzer himself, and Mr. Butler, a tall, sloping-shouldered Englishman, entered.
“Has anything new developed?” asked Kennedy, introducing me.