"Coming up the stairs from the down-town Subway station in front of the Park Avenue Hotel. He wore a hat pulled down over his eyes and an old overcoat buttoned tight up to his chin. He was carrying a satchel bearing the initials C. S. D., but was otherwise pretty thoroughly disguised, and, I fancied, anxious enough to escape recognition."
"You're positive about this?"
"My dear man," said Ember with an air, "I saw his ear distinctly."
"His ear!"
"I never forget an ear; I've made a special study of them. They're the last parts of the human anatomy that criminals ever think to disguise; and, to the trained eye, as infallible a means of identification—nearly—as thumb-prints. The man I saw coming up from the Subway kept as much as possible away from the light; he had successfully hidden most of his face; but he wore the inches, the hand-bag, and the ear of Carter S. Drummond. I don't think I can be mistaken."
"Did you stop him—speak to him?"
Ember shook his head. "No. I doubt if he would have remembered me. Our acquaintance has been of the slightest, limited to a couple of meetings. Besides, I was in a hurry to get to the theatre, and at that time had heard nothing of this reputed suicide."
"Which way did he go?"
"Toward the Pennsylvania station, I fancy; that is, he turned west through Thirty-third Street. I didn't follow—I was getting into a taxi when I caught sight of him."
"But what did you think to see him disguised? Didn't it strike you as curious?"