They found the station agent at the depot. He was a small, shriveled-up old man, and he glared suspiciously at them when they questioned him.
It took them some minutes to elicit the information that two trains left the station at nine-ten—about the hour that the carriage would have reached the place if it had gone there direct from the theater.
"And where do these two trains go?" asked Mr. Wattles.
"One goes to New York."
"And the other?"
"The other is the Boston express."
The manager then described the occupants of the carriage.
"I remember them; what of it?" said the station agent, crustily.
"What do you remember about them?"
"I remember that one of the ladies—the smaller one—seemed to be sick; at any rate, she had to be helped into the waiting room, where they all three stayed till the train arrived."