“That is what they call men of my vocation in England,” he replied. “Here, in America, we are detectives.”
“Yaas, yaas, I see,” nodded Dayton, laughing and showing his teeth. “I don’t quite get away from the home lingo, you know.”
“I inferred that you were English.”
“Yaas, that’s right, Mr. Carter. I’ve been over ’ere only a few months. Don’t ’ang round New York but part of the time. Traveling ’ere and there most of it. But I ’ave to ’ave an office ’ere, you know. I say, what can I do for you?”
Not for a moment had his keen, intent eyes left the face of the detective.
“Well, Beckwith was telling me that you saw Gordon leaving his office yesterday afternoon,” said Chick, declining a cigarette the Englishman now tendered, while he lit one for himself.
“Yaas, surely. I told Beckwith so.”
“Can you tell me precisely what time it was when you saw Gordon?”
“Well, no, I really don’t think I can,” Dayton drawled thoughtfully. “I can ’it mighty near it, though.”
“What time would you say, Mr. Dayton?”