It was a bit illiterate, but it revealed to me the fact that its writer had attended the National Theatre on the night of October sixteenth and as he had occupied a seat H 3, he was behind G 3, he wanted very much to know in what way it was to his advantage to announce the fact to me.
I telephoned Mr. Decker at the address he gave, and he agreed to come to see me within the next hour.
He came very soon, and entirely fulfilled the mental picture I had already drawn of him. Flashy clothing, red necktie and hat on the back of his head were his distinguishing characteristics, with voice and manner to correspond.
"What's up, pard?" was his unduly familiar greeting, but though I did not respond in his vernacular, I had no wish to criticise it.
I explained to him that I wanted to know anything he could tell me about the occupants of seats one and three G on the night in question.
"Sure, I can tell ye all about 'em," he declared; "they was pals of mine, Billy Rivers and Bob Pierson. They was eight of us went, and we had aisle seats of four rows, right in front of each other. What about them two chaps? they're all right, Guv'nor, I'll go bail for that!"
"I've no doubt of it, Mr. Decker," I responded, heartily; "and as this is just a little private matter between you and me, I'm going to ask you for their addresses, but I am going to assure you that this will get them into no trouble, unless they deserve it; and that if you so desire, your name need not be mentioned in the matter."
"Great Mackerel! I don't care how much you mention my name, and like's not Bob and Bill won't care either. They're straight, mister, good pals and good men."
There was something about the candid gaze of Decker that made me feel confidence in his words. I had a conviction then and there, that whoever murdered Robert Pembroke it was neither Bob nor Bill, the good friends of James Decker. But in a way, it was a disappointment, for it only proved one more clue worthless. Where those two ticket stubs came from, or how they got into Robert Pembroke's bedroom, I didn't then stop to think; although I had hazy ideas of tracing some sort of connection with the elevator boy or janitor and these people. But for the moment, all I could do was to take these men's addresses, and present Mr. Decker with a sufficient honorarium to pay him for the trouble and exertion of coming to see me.