“The one next to the Baird mansion on the east—this way—” Donovan moved his hands about to demonstrate his sense of direction. “It’s the house you have to pass to return to Washington.”
“Was Major Wallace in his car on Sunday afternoon?”
“No, sir, he was walking.” Donovan waited a moment before adding, “Mrs. Murray swears she knows Major Wallace well by sight; that she’s seen him too often waiting for Miss Kitty Baird to be mistaken. She was just stepping into her front walk when the Major brushed by her in such a devil of a hurry that he nearly knocked her down.”
Mitchell closed the drawers of his desk, locked them, and arose. “That is all now, Donovan,” he said. “Report at once if you obtain any further information. Don’t wait to come in person, telephone.”
“All right, Inspector,” and saluting, Donovan hurried away. The door had hardly closed after him before it opened to admit a plain clothes detective.
“Well, Welsh, what luck?” Mitchell asked eagerly.
“An old colored man did board the three o’clock train this afternoon for Front Royal, Inspector,” he reported. “The gatekeeper and one of the porters declared that he answered the description you furnished.”
“Was a woman with him?”
“No, sir; not that I can find out. Every one swears that the old man was alone.”
Mitchell considered the answer in silence. “There is nothing for it but a trip to Front Royal,” he said finally. “Go there, Welsh, and find out if Oscar Jackson arrived there to-day on the three o’clock train—no later train, mind you—from Washington. I understood Mr. Rodgers to say that Oscar is from Front Royal and has relatives living in its vicinity. Therefore he is known and I don’t anticipate that you will have difficulty in locating him. Keep me informed by telephone.”