"You've been working on it, of course?"
"I haven't been idle, and just now I'm feeling rather pleased with myself. The coroner's physician finished his post-mortem half an hour or so ago."
"Well?" I said again.
"The stomach was absolutely normal. It showed no trace of poison of any kind."
He stretched himself, lay back in his chair, sent a smoke-ring circling toward the ceiling, and watched it, smiling absently.
"Rather a facer for our friend Goldberger," he added, after a minute.
"What's the matter with Goldberger? He seemed rather peeved with you this afternoon."
"No wonder. He's Grady's man, and we're after Grady. Grady isn't fit to head the detective bureau—he got the job through his pull with Tammany—he's stupid, and I suspect he's crooked. The Record says he has got to go."
"So, of course, he will go," I commented, smiling.
"He certainly will," assented Godfrey seriously, "and that before long. But meanwhile it's a little difficult for me, because his people don't know which way to jump. Once he's out, everything will be serene again."