case."
Nick smiled.
"If he hadn't been drunk he wouldn't have had anything to do with the case," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Why, it's clear enough. This man that we want saw Harrigan on that cab while the man was on his way to the restaurant with the woman. Then when it became necessary to get Corbut out of the way, he remembered the drunken cabman, and hired him."
"I don't see how you know that."
"A man would rather have a sober driver than a drunken one, wouldn't he?"
"Yes."
"Well, the man who told you he saw Harrigan get the job was sober, wasn't he?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't the man take his cab? Because he wanted a drunken driver, who wouldn't be sharp enough to get on to any queer business.
"But he wouldn't have tried to find a drunken cabman just by luck, and he wouldn't have taken a sober one. Therefore he had seen Harrigan and hoped to find him in the same place.
"That's part of the plot. Now, then, you go to Chick, who's watching the body of the woman. I'm going to take Gaspard uptown and have a look at that part of the city where Harrigan left his passengers."
Nick and Gaspard went to the Thirty-third street station of the Sixth avenue elevated road.
They walked to the edge of the platform on the uptown end.
Suddenly Gaspard gave a violent start. He uttered an exclamation of surprise and pointed across the tracks.
"What is it?" cried Nick.
"The man who was in room B!" exclaimed Gaspard. "I am sure of it!"
At that instant a downtown train rushed into the station, cutting off Nick's view.
And a half-second later an uptown train pulled in on their side. Nick pushed open a gate before the train had fairly stopped. He dragged Gaspard after him.
The gateman tried to stop them, but Nick pushed the fellow in the car so violently that he sat down on the floor.
Then the detective pulled the other gate open, and, still dragging Gaspard, sprang down in the space between the tracks.
The other train was just starting. Nick leaped up and opened one of the gates.
Gaspard stood trembling. Excitement and terror rendered him incapable of action.
Nick reached down, and, seizing the man by the shoulders, lifted him up to the platform of the car as if he had been a child of ten.
"Look back," cried the detective, pushing Gaspard to the other side of the car. "Is your man still at the station?"
Two or three men were there, having, apparently, just missed the train.
It seemed possible that the criminal—if such he was—had seen Gaspard point, and had been shrewd enough not to board the car.
But Gaspard looked back and declared that his man was not there.
"Good," said Nick. "He must be on the train. We have him sure."
CHAPTER III.
JOHN JONES.
"I want you!" whispered Nick.
How many luckless criminals have been startled by those words! How many have seen the prison or the gallows rise before them at the sound!
In this case, however, the words seemed to produce less than the ordinary effect.
The man to whom they were addressed turned suddenly toward the detective, but did not shrink or tremble.
"I beg your pardon," said he; "I didn't quite understand what you said."
The man's coolness made Nick even more in doubt about Gaspard's identification.
After boarding the train they had walked through it hurriedly, and in the car next the engine Gaspard had clutched Nick's arm, whispering:
"There is your man!"
The person indicated was well-dressed, rather good-looking, and about thirty-five years old. There was nothing particularly striking about his appearance.
It would have been easy to have found dozens of such men on lower Broadway any day.
Nick feared a mistake. But Gaspard was sure.
"I never forget a face," he said. "That is the man whom I saw coming out of room B. That is the murderer."
The man was standing up and holding on to one of the straps. His profile was turned to them.
Nick waited until he turned and showed his full face. The detective was bound to give Gaspard every chance to change his mind.
But he remained firm, and at last Nick approached the accused and suddenly whispered the terrifying words in his ear.
Having done so, he was obliged to carry it through. Therefore, when the stranger asked Nick to repeat what he had said, the detective, in a low voice, inaudible to anybody else in the car, told him what the accusation was.
"This is ridiculous," said the man. "I read the story of this affair in the papers this morning, but I am not connected with it in any way. If you arrest me, you must be prepared to take the consequences."
"I guess we can manage the affair quietly," said Nick, "and give you no trouble at all. I suppose you were going downtown to business?"
"Yes."
"Well, I will go along, too, if you don't mind."
"By all means," said the man, and he looked much relieved.
"I understand what your duty is," he continued. "Since this imported French jackass has made this charge, of course you'll have to look into it. Come down to the office and make some inquiries, and then go up to my flat. I was at home last evening after eight o'clock.
"What did you do before that?"
"I had dinner with my wife, and then put her aboard a train. She's gone away on a visit."
"Where has she gone?"
"No, sir; none of that. I don't propose to have a detective go flying after her to scare her to death. She keeps out of this mess, if I have any say about it."
