Hayman looked up, recognized the great detective—they were old acquaintances—and at once said: "I've got an idea, that's all."
"Then we will walk to a quiet place and you shall tell me about it," returned Nick firmly; and taking Hayman by the arm he led the man to the sidewalk.
In the second story of a building a few doors below the morgue, Nick found a place suitable for a private conversation. It was one of a suite of rooms occupied by a lawyer of the detective's acquaintance. The lawyer luckily was in the main office at the time, doing night work on an important civil case on trial, and he cheerfully ushered them into the consultation office, where they would be secure from interruption.
After Nick and Hayman had lighted cigars, the railway man spoke:
"I wish now that I had informed the coroner of what I know."
"Why didn't you inform him?"
"Because I was afraid I might suffer Playfair's fate. I have a family. I am anything but rich, and a man has to consider such things, you know."
"Oh! yes," said Nick, with a faint touch of scorn.
"On the night of the murder I was occupied in the railway office up to half-past eleven in making out my weekly statement. When I had finished I thought I would walk down to the roundhouse and see if everything there was all right, for one of the wipers was sick and the other would not come on duty until midnight. I was close by the door and was about to turn the knob, when I heard the sound of voices. Two men were speaking. One was an American; the other's voice betrayed a slight accent which I could not place.
"'Two hours to wait,' said the American, 'before the train pulls out.'