The Crime of the French Café and Other Stories. Carter Nicholas
sure of it. How could it have been anything else? The woman was alone."
"There might have been somebody else in the room."
"No; our waiter told us that the party consisted of only two."
"You mean Corbut?"
"I believe that's his name—the fellow who disappeared."
"How do you account for his disappearance?"
"I don't; but perhaps he was afraid of being mixed up in the affair. He may have a record which won't permit him to go before the police, even as a witness."
"How could he have got that cab?"
"I've thought a good deal about that. It was mentioned in the papers. I believe he may have slipped out the front way, called the cab, and then gone back to get something.
"Perhaps he went back for his clothes but didn't dare to take them."
"And how about the cabman's story of the man who engaged the cab?"
"The cabman's a liar. That's plain enough."
"I'm afraid he is. Now, Mr. Hammond, could either Corbut or this man Gaspard have got into room B without your knowing it?"
"Easily. Great heavens, I never thought of that! One of them may be the murderer!"
Gaspard, at these words, turned as white as a sheet.
He was so frightened that his English—which was usually very fluent—deserted him, and he mumbled protestations of innocence in his mother tongue.
"Thank you, Mr. Hammond," said Nick, without appearing to notice Gaspard's distress. "I have no more questions to ask, but I would be obliged to you if you would wait here a few minutes for me."
Nick went into another room, where he knew that Patsy was waiting.
A set of signals is arranged in Nick's house, by which he always knows when one of his staff gets in.
"Patsy," said Nick, "there's a fellow up stairs whom you'll have to shadow."
"Gaspard?"
"No; a man who calls himself Hammond. Gaspard has identified him as the man who was in room A."
"Look here," said Patsy, "am I a farmer, or is the man Gaspard the greatest living identifier?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why, it strikes me that he picked out his men a good deal too easy. If it's all straight, I'd like the loan of his luck for a few days.
"That identification on the elevated station looked to me like a fake. I don't believe he ever intended that you should get hold of the man.
"In my opinion, he's simply running around identifying everybody he sees."
"But this man Hammond admits it."
"Is he telling the truth?"
"No," said Nick, with a peculiar smile, "I don't believe he is."
"Well, then, Gaspard's a liar, and if he's lied here, he may have done the same thing in Jones' case."
Nick looked shrewdly at his youthful assistant. He is very fond of this bright boy, and gives him every chance to develop his theories in those cases in which he is employed.
"Come, my lad," said the famous detective, "tell me what has set you against Gaspard."
"He's going to skip."
"Is that so? Well, this is serious."
"It's a fact. I got it from one of the men in the restaurant. My man was told of it by Corbut."
"Corbut?"
"Yes; and there's another suspicious circumstance. There's a Frenchwoman who is going to give little old New York the shake at the same time as Gaspard. They're going back to sunny France together.
"Now, nobody knows this but the man I talked with. Gaspard thinks that Corbut was the only one who knew it.
"So it was for Gaspard's interest, in case he really did this job, and lifted some valuable plunder off that woman, to get Corbut out of the way.
"Did he pay Corbut to skip first? And is he now identifying Tom, Dick and Harry for the purpose of bothering us and keeping us busy till he can light out?"
"It's worth looking into," said Nick. "At any rate, you stick to Gaspard. I'll put somebody else onto Hammond."
CHAPTER VI.
MRS. JOHN JONES.
Nothing of great importance occurred in the case until the next afternoon when Nick was at Police Headquarters.
He was talking with Superintendent Byrnes.
"The identification of that woman gets stronger all the time," said the superintendent. "I'm beginning to think that she is really the wife of our prisoner."
"It looks so," said Nick.
At that moment a card was brought in. The superintendent looked at it and whistled softly.
Then he handed the card to Nick, who read the name. The two men exchanged glances, and both smiled.
"Mrs. John Jones," said Nick; "well, this puts a new face on the matter."
"It's a great case," was the reply. "I'm mighty glad you happened to be on the scene at once."
He turned to the officer who had brought the card, and directed that Mrs. Jones should be admitted immediately.
A pretty young woman entered. She was of about the same height as the unfortunate victim of the tragedy in the restaurant, and much like her in build.
The faces did not resemble each other in outline, but the coloring was similar. There was a faint resemblance in the large, light blue eyes.
The hair was of the same peculiar shade, and nearly as luxuriant. But nobody would ever have mistaken one woman for the other, after a fair look at their faces.
The costumes, however, were positively identical. Mrs. John Jones, to all appearances, wore the very same clothes as Nick had seen upon the woman in room B.
Mrs. Jones was evidently very nervous, but she made a fine attempt to control herself.
"You have my husband under arrest, I believe," she said. "And he is accused, they say, of killing me."
She tried to smile, but it was rather a ghastly effort.
The superintendent motioned the woman to a seat.
"Mr. John Jones is here," he said, "and he is suspected of murder."
"I have read about it," replied the woman. "There certainly appeared to be evidence against him, but of course you must be aware that I know him to be innocent."
"How?"
"Because I was with him when the crime was committed. At half-past seven o'clock of that evening we were walking toward the Grand Central Depot.
"We had dined in our flat. The people who say they saw us go out tell the truth.
"But we came back. It was my intention to take an afternoon train, but I decided to wait.
"So we came back and had dinner. Nobody saw us go in or out of the flat.
"After dinner we walked to the depot, and I took the eight-ten train for my home in Maysville, ten