“Nothing at all, sir. It is too early in the game. One word more!”
“Well?”
“Introduce me here as a clerk from your office, not as a detective!”
“I understand.”
“And take no notice of what I may say and do.”
“Rely on my discretion!” nodded Mr. French approvingly, as they approached the door of the car.
CHAPTER III.
CONSTABLE BRAGG.
It had turned ten o’clock. Though the sun was now well up and the sky cloudless, the air continued biting cold and the ground was frozen hard.
It was a branch station at which the two men alighted, and only a single carriage stood at the narrow platform.
More than a mile away, across a dismal sweep of moorland and marshes, could be seen the blue waters of the broad Atlantic, broken by the grim, dark rocks of the peninsula of Nahant. Somewhat nearer was the desolate, gray turnpike making east to the cities of Lynn and Salem. It was the highway of old colonial days, and still was nearly as dreary and void of dwellings as of yore.