“That’s right, too,” said Patsy.
“We may find the correct answer to it,” Nick added. “Did Toulon appear to be in bad shape, as if the assault was a genuine one?”
“He did, chief, for fair, as far as that goes,” Patsy reported. “He appeared to be telling the truth. Here is the cigarette he began to smoke. I found it near the bulkhead door.”
“I will size up the fellow and judge for myself,” said Nick. “Find Chick and have him bring Toulon in here. See the caterer, also, and tell him not to leave before I have talked with him.”
Patsy hastened to obey.
Chick entered with the waiter a few moments later and closed the door.
Pierre Toulon had recovered from the assault. He was a man of medium build, with dark features and a black mustache, waxed at the ends. There was a bruise on his forehead and his lower lip was slightly scratched, also one side of his neck. His collar was wrinkled and soiled, but his garments had been brushed.
“Come nearer, Mr. Toulon, and be seated,” said Nick. “I want to question you about the assault. You are employed by Mr. Lenaire, I am told.”
There was nothing in Nick’s voice, looks, or manner denoting that he had any covert designs. He spoke very pleasantly, with a tinge of sympathy for his hearer. Toulon approached a bit gingerly, nevertheless, and seated himself on the edge of a chair, directly opposite the detective.
“Yes, sir, I work for Mr. Lenaire,” he replied. “I am a waiter.”