"Very well; you wait right here, and I'll bring a man who knows something about it. I heard of him this morning, and had time to ask him a few questions, but I don't know all he has to tell."
Deever hastily left the room. From the window Nick saw Deever pass up West One Hundred and Forty-third street, on which the house stood. He was going in the direction of St. Nicholas avenue.
In less than an hour he returned with a young man whom he presented as the important witness for whom he had been in search.
"Your name is Adolf Klein?" said Nick.
The witness nodded. He was a bashful, awkward fellow, who did not seem to be possessed of the average intelligence.
"Where do you work?" was the next question.
"I'm a bartender in Orton's saloon, up on the avenue."
"Do you know what has become of Patrick Deever?"
"All I know is this: I was passing the grounds of the hospital Monday evening and stopped just by the wall. The reason I stopped was that I heard Pat Deever inside, talking very loud. He called somebody an old fool and swore at him."
The witness paused. He seemed to be a good deal excited. It was not very warm in the room, but the perspiration was pouring off of Klein's forehead.