“Yes,” answered the girl. “He was a tall, thin man and something about him made me think he was a ball player. Of course I was interested, but that was all. I didn’t think of it again until I saw one of the men, McCarney, on the field to-day.”
“Did you hear anything else?” asked Jim, alert.
Clara shook her head.
“When the two men saw me they strolled off to a more deserted part of the station. They started talking in whispers again, but of course I didn’t follow them. At the time I didn’t see any reason why I should. Only, I had a feeling that neither of the men was straight.”
“Um-m,” said Jim grimly. His forehead was wrinkled and his fingers beat a nervous tattoo on the arm of the seat. “You didn’t happen to recognize the other fellow—the one McCarney was talking to—on the field to-day, did you?”
Clara shook her head. She looked worried.
“No, I looked for him after I recognized the other man,” she said. “But I’m sure he wasn’t on the field to-day.”
“Do you think,” asked Jim, in the same grim tone, “that you could recognize this fellow if I were to show you his picture?”
“Yes, I’m sure of that,” answered Clara quickly. “I was so curious because of what McCarney had said, that I took a good look at both of them. And I’m sure I could easily recognize the other man if I should see him or a picture of him. He was the kind of person,” she added, thoughtfully, “that one doesn’t very easily forget.”
“What do you think of it, old chappie?” asked Reggie. His monocle had fallen from his eye and, in his agitation, he had not even bothered to replace it. “Looks rather like some sort of plot, what? A conspiracy, you might say.”