He smiled rather grimly as he reflected that if Gregory had been right in his identification, he was, beyond those windows at that moment, very possibly warning Clark against himself. Gregory would know his type, that he never let go. He drew himself up a little.
The house door opened, and Gregory came out, turning toward the station. Bassett caught up with him and put a hand on his arm.
“Well?” he said cheerfully. “It was, wasn't it?”
Gregory stopped dead and stared at him. Then:
“Old dog Tray!” he said sneeringly. “If your brain was as good as your nose, Bassett, you'd be a whale of a newspaper man.”
“Don't bother about my brain. It's working fine to-day, anyhow. Well, what had he to say for himself?”
Gregory's mind was busy, and he had had a moment to pull himself together.
“We both get off together,” he said, more amiably. “That fellow isn't Jud Clark and never was. He's a doctor, and the nephew of the old doctor there. They're in practice together.”
“Did you see them both?”
“Yes.”