"No?"
"No. It was given to the door-keeper by a boy—just an ordinary boy of from twelve to fourteen years—the man didn't notice him especially. He said there was no answer and went away. How are the police to find that boy? Suppose they do find him? Probably all he could tell them would be that a man stopped him at the corner and gave him a quarter to take the note to the coroner's office."
"He might give a description of the man," I ventured.
"What would a boy's description be worth? It would be, at the best, vague and indefinite. Besides, they've not even found the boy. Now, to return to the note."
We had come to the coffee and cigars, and I felt it time to protest.
"Before we return to the note, Mr. Godfrey," I said, "I'd like to ask you two direct questions. What interest have you in the matter?"
"The interest of every investigator of crime," he answered, smiling.
"You belong to the detective force, then?"
"I have belonged to it. At present, I'm in other employ."
"And what was your object in bringing me here this evening?"