His cigar was out, but he did not notice it. He sat with a curiously alert air, like a pointing dog, immobile, but terribly ready. He was thinking.
He stopped the conductor as he passed through the car.
“Can you stop at New Chelsea?” he asked.
The conductor shook his head.
“It’s not an express stop,” he said. “You’ll have to go on to New York and then take a train back. You’ll have to wait till to-morrow morning, too. No more trains to-night!”
Brecky reflected. He took it for granted that if Kathleen had telephoned to the fellow at New Chelsea, that was where he lived, and where he was most likely to be found. He pulled at the conductor’s sleeve as the man was moving away.
“Do you slow down anywhere near there?”
“Not enough for—”
“Just you tell me when you’re going to slow down a bit,” said Brecky. “I’ve got to get there. You won’t be responsible.”
“I should be,” said the conductor sententiously. “Morally speaking, I should be responsible.”