by hisself, but they was a feller with him, a-holdin’ him up.”
Godfrey was listening with strained attention. There were many questions he wished to ask, but he dared not interrupt.
“Well, we got him upstairs atween us. An’ then, when I went through his pockets, I couldn’t find his key, an’ I had t’ come down an’ git mine afore I could git his door open. We laid him on his bed an’ left him there, a-snorin’ like a hog. That feller who was with him was certainly a good sort. He set down here t’ talk t’ me a while—it was rainin’ so hard he couldn’t go—an’ he said he’d run acrost Thompson down at Pete Magraw’s place on Sixth Avenoo. Thompson was treatin’ everybody an’ actin’ like a fool ginerally; then he got bad an’ started t’ clean out th’ saloon, an’ Pete was goin’ t’ call a cop, but this feller said he’d bring him home—an’ so he did.”
Higgins stopped to take breath, and Godfrey ventured to put a question.
“Did you know him?”
“No; I never seed him afore.”
“What sort of a looking fellow was he?”
“A good-lookin’ feller, well-dressed—no bum, I kin tell y’ that. He was short an’ heavy-set, with a little black moustache that turned up at th’ ends.”
Godfrey’s heart gave a sudden leap—so Miss Croydon had told the truth, after all! She was not trying to protect anybody. And the case was going to prove a simple one—he had been reading a mystery into it that it did not possess; that was always the danger with your theorist, he told himself, a little bitterly—he was
