“Nothing to boast of. Say, Charlie,” drawing him to one side and speaking in a low tone, “can you tell me anything about Alfred Clark?”
“Tell you anything about him?” echoed Archibald, surprised. “Well, no, not much; he’s a quiet sort of chap, keeps himself pretty much to himself, not a good mixer with the boys. I’ve seen more of him than the others because he’s lending me a hand in my studies for the District Bar examination.”
“Perhaps you can tell me where he was on the night of the third?”
“The third,” repeated Archibald. “What the deuce was I doing that night? Wait a moment.” He took out a memorandum book and turned the leaves rapidly. “22nd January—1st of February—ah, here we are—‘study with Clark.’ Of course, I remember now. That night I went over to his rooms at the Buckingham, to go over some papers with him. He has often told me to go up to his room and wait if he wasn’t there; and so I sat waiting and waiting until after midnight, but he never showed up. Then I cleared out.”
“Did he ever tell you what detained him?”
“Nope, just said he forgot the engagement.”
“Do you know where Clark generally spends his time when not working?”
“He used to be with the Trevors all the time. He is quite a lady killer, you know.” Dick shivered involuntarily, while his unconscious friend went on. “He is society mad, but lately he’s not been like himself. It may be money troubles; he plays the races and has been a heavy loser. I know because I made him a small loan, and lately the money lenders have been pressing him for payments.” He looked curiously at Dick. “Why do you want to know all this? You and Clark never hit it off very well.”
“I’ll explain some other time. Many thanks, old man. By-by,” and Dick turned and ran down the corridor after the Attorney General, who had just entered the building.
“How are you, Tillinghast?” said he, cordially, as Dick brought up breathless before him. “Want to see me?”