‘He’s a good old sport, he is,’ he announced, ‘but to look at him there you wouldn’t think butter would melt in his mouth. What do you say?’
The girl wrinkled her pretty eyebrows.
‘But that isn’t the man,’ she exclaimed.
Tanner took the card.
‘I’m a blooming idiot,’ he said. ‘I’ve shown you the wrong photo. This was the one I meant.’ He handed over the print of Cosgrove.
‘Why, yes,’ the girl answered unhesitatingly. ‘That’s him and no mistake.’
‘He’s a good soul enough,’ went on Tanner, ‘but he was very sick about that train, I can tell you.’
They conversed for a few moments more as the Inspector lit one of his purchases. Then with a courteous ‘Goodnight,’ he left the bar.
Whatever else might be true or false in Cosgrove’s statement, thought Tanner, it was at least bed rock that he had missed the 7.15 train as he had said. The thing now to be ascertained was whether he really had travelled by the 10.30.
By dint of persistent inquiries the Inspector found a number of the men who had been on duty when that train left. But here he was not so successful. No one so far as he could learn had seen Cosgrove.