“Don’t you know where he is?”
“No, sir. He was going to New Pelham on the seven-thirty train, however.”
“He was, eh? That’s significant.”
He had sized up the butler, and decided that he was telling the truth. If necessary, he would try diplomacy. If he could get hold of Nick’s assistants, he told himself, he might obtain some valuable pointers.
To be sure, if the detective had been playing the wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing part for any length of time, it was quite conceivable that his assistants, or some of them, at least, were as bad as he. If this were the first offense, however, it might be possible to get one of his staff to turn against him, and assist in his capture, in the hope of stepping into his shoes.
“I’m Mr. Griswold, the owner of the Chronicle and Observer,” he told the butler. “Perhaps you’ll remember that I was here yesterday with Mr. Cray? I’m very anxious to see Mr. Carter himself, but one of his assistants might do.”
“None of them is here now, sir,” Joseph told him. “They’re all away from the city for one reason or another. Mr. Carter’s chief assistant, Mr. Chickering Carter, left for the Adirondacks with him just the other day, and stayed up there when he returned unexpectedly.”
“Carter’s leading assistant! He would be the best one!” thought Griswold.
Aloud he asked for Chick’s address.