There was no light in the cab, but they happened to be passing a lighted restaurant at that moment, and Nick had a good view of his companion’s face.
“What’s that, chief?” gasped Chick. “Won’t you say it again?”
“I will if you like. I say, that T. Burton Potter is so much like the heir to the Milmarsh millions, that I cannot think they are not the same person.”
“But—but—this Potter is a crook!” protested Chick.
“That is what makes the case so difficult to handle,” replied Nick. “If Potter were an honest, reputable member of society, I should not have to proceed so carefully. As it is——”
He did not finish the sentence. He felt that it was not necessary. He leaned back in the taxi, and not another word was spoken by either until the cab had been run upon the ferryboat. Then the chief remarked that the smell of horses was rather strong, and that they might as well go to the front of the boat to get the night air on the wide river.
They got out of the cab, Nick telling the taxi driver they would get in again before the ferryboat tied up in her slip, and walked to the front of the deck on the men’s side, where Nick could continue to smoke his cigar without breaking rules.
Having looked about him, to make sure there were no eavesdroppers, he explained to his assistant how it was this case interested him so much.
“You know, Chick, that when we left Maple, and after we had pretty well combed out all the camps in that part of the country, to make sure neither Andrew Lampton nor Howard Milmarsh were in any of them, we came to the conclusion that they must have made their way East.”
“It was you came to the conclusion—not I,” corrected Chick. “I did not decide anything.”