"Certainly," said Henley. "I won't say anything further about this matter. It would be unwise for obvious reasons."
"I suppose you consider that this turning on of the gas was an attempt on your life?"
"I can't suppose anything else."
Hatch studied the pallid face closely as he asked the next question.
"Do you know Miss Regnier was found dead to-day?"
"Dead?" exclaimed the other, and he arose. "Who--what--who is she?"
It seemed a distinct effort for him to regain control of himself.
The reporter detailed then the circumstances of the finding of the girl's body, and the broker listened without comment. From that time forward all the reporter's questions were either parried or else met with a flat refusal to answer. Finally Hatch repeated to him the warning which he had from The Thinking Machine, and feeling that he had accomplished little, went away.
At eight o'clock that night--a night of complete darkness--Henley was found unconscious, lying in a little used walk in the Common. There was a bullet hole through his left shoulder, and he was bleeding profusely. He was removed to the hospital, where he regained consciousness for just a moment.
"Who shot you?" he was asked.