“Good-looking chap. Talked very keen, but nervouslike. He had on a dark suit. He was kinda white — his face. Looked like somebody was after him.”
“Middleton, all right! Go on.”
“That was all — then,” said the cabman. “When I read about Blefken being killed, I figured this was the fellow you were after. But I thought sure he’d beat it, and I was afraid to butt in. I don’t want to buck any gunmen.
“This afternoon, I was reading the papers again, and I see now that you only want him for a witness, and that you’ve got the real murderer all sewed up.
“Well, I was thinking about telling what I knew, but didn’t know whether it would do any good, until tonight — well, tonight I see the fellow again.”
“Where?” Joe Cardona’s voice was eager.
“Right up by the same corner. I followed him along, and he went down a little street until he came to an old house. He went in through the side. I watched, and a light showed in the back room on the second floor.
“Here’s the address.” The man fumbled in his pocket and brought out a sheet of paper. “Look, I’ve drawn the way the house looks. Right here is the door—”
“Great!” said Cardona. He showed the paper to Inspector Klein. “I’m going up there right away. If Middleton’s still around, we’ll nab him.”
“Better take this fellow with you,” said Klein.