“You are a man of means, then, I infer,” put in Nick.
“Well, I have a bit of a fortune in my own name.”
“By the way, speaking of that, what is your name?” Nick pointedly inquired.
The Englishman hesitated for half a second. Most men would not have noticed it. Nick was quick to detect it, suspecting deception, however, as well as some secret occasion for it.
“My name is Archie Waldron.”
“Archie Waldron, eh?”
“Yes. I am English, you know, as you remarked, though I’m jolly well puzzled as to how you discovered it.”
Nick did not inform him. Instead, as they turned into Fifty-third Street and approached the boarding house occupied by the Englishman, he inquired, more earnestly:
“Where had you been with your wife, or where were you going, Mr. Waldron, when this strange separation occurred?”
A tinge of red appeared in the Englishman’s cheeks. He appeared somewhat embarrassed. He gazed at Nick for a moment, then said: