A quizzical tone in Mr. Mitchel's voice attracted Mr. Barnes's keen sense of hearing, and, slightly disturbed, he said:
"Why, yes. What do you think?"
"I think I would like to go to that man's hotel, and I think we cannot get there too quickly."
"Why, what do you mean? Explain."
"I cannot explain. There is no time. Do not waste another minute, but let us go at once and call on your client."
Mystified, Mr. Barnes jumped up, and the two men hurried out of the building and up Broadway. They had only a few blocks to walk, and were soon in the elevator of the hotel ascending to the top floor where was that room whose only communication with the outer world was a skylight. Reaching the door, Mr. Barnes tried the knob, but the door was locked. He knocked first lightly and then more violently, but there was no response.
"It is useless, Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Mitchel. "We must break in the door, and I fear we may be too late."
"Too late?" said Mr. Barnes, wonderingly; but without losing more time throwing his weight against the door it yielded and flew in. The two men and the hall-boy entered, and pointing to the floor where lay the body of a man, Mr. Mitchel said:
"See! we are too late."
They lifted the man to the bed, and hastily summoned medical aid, but he was dead. While the hall-boy was gone to call the doctor, Mr. Barnes ruefully said: