“Exactly.”
“Well, that beats time!” muttered the conductor.
“Where were we six hours ago?” asked Norcross.
The conductor consulted his watch. “In Atlanta,” he answered.
“I imagine that was where the crime was committed,” said Shively. “Who was in this car beside Tilghman during the two hours we were in that station?”
“I don’t know,” returned the conductor. “But I can easily find out by asking the porter,” and he hastened out of the smoker, to reappear a second later with the porter.
“No, suh, there wasn’t no one in this here smoker while we was in Atlanta ’cept Mr. Tilghman,” declared the negro, on being questioned. “Not a soul, I’ll take my Bible oath to that. I looked in here a few minutes after de train stopped an’ Mr. Tilghman was a settin’ in de chair jus’ as ca’m an’ peaceful, an’ I went outside an’ stood on de platform by de steps at dat end, an’ didn’t no one pass into de car while we was in de station.”
“How about this end of the car?” questioned the conductor. “The vestibule——”
“Norcross and I sat there and smoked the whole time we were in Atlanta, except for the first twenty minutes when we got some lunch at the station restaurant,” broke in Shively sharply. “No one entered the car while we were there. If the crime was committed it was done during the first twenty minutes the train was in the station.”
“Did Mr. Tilghman order any brandy, porter?” asked Norcross.