"Young?"
"Thirty. Perhaps not so much. In reading the account in the Herald this evening, I saw Jones's folks gave evidence that he had left at half-past four to catch the Birmingham train. I told Jones it was a mistake, and he told his wife; and didn't she fly out! As if she need have put herself in a tantrum over that! 'twas a matter of no consequence."
In common with the rest of the town, not a gleam of suspicion that the death was otherwise than the verdict pronounced it to be, had been admitted by Mr. Cause. He went on enlarging on the grievance of Mrs. Jones's attack upon him.
"She'd not hear a word: Jones fetched me in there. She told me to my face that, between spectacles and the deceitful rays of street lamps, one, come to my age, was unable to distinguish black from white, round from square. She said I must have mistaken the gentleman, Mr. Greatorex, for Godfrey Pitman or else Jones's nephew, both of them having gone out about the same time. I couldn't get in a word edgeways, I assure you Mr. Butterby, and Dicky Jones can bear me out that I couldn't. Let it go, 'tis of no moment; I don't care to quarrel with my neighbours' wives."
Mr. Butterby thought it was of a great deal of moment. He changed the conversation to something else with apparent carelessness, and then took a leisurely departure. Turning off at the top of High Street, he increased his pace, and went direct to the railway station.
The most intelligent porter employed there was a man named Hall. It was his duty to be on the platform when trains were starting and, as the detective had previous cause to know, few of those who departed by them escaped his observation. The eight o'clock train for London was on the point of departure. Mr. Butterby waited under some sheds until it had gone.
Now for Hall, thought he. As if to echo the words the first person to approach the sheds was Hall himself. In a diplomatic way, Mr. Butterby, when he had made known his presence, began putting inquiries about a matter totally foreign to the one he had come upon.
"By the way, Hall," he suddenly said, when the man thought he was done with, "there was a friend of mine went away last Monday evening, but I'm not sure by which train. I wonder if you happened to see him here? A well-grown, straight man, with black beard and whiskers--about thirty."
Hall considered, and shook his head. "I've no recollection of any one of that description, sir."
"Got a blue bag in his hand. He might have went by the five o'clock train, or later. At eight most likely; this hour, you know."