In this case, however, the words seemed to produce less than the ordinary effect.
The man to whom they were addressed turned suddenly toward the detective, but did not shrink or tremble.
"I beg your pardon," said he; "I didn't quite understand what you said."
The man's coolness made Nick even more in doubt about Gaspard's identification.
After boarding the train they had walked through it hurriedly, and in the car next the engine Gaspard had clutched Nick's arm, whispering:
"There is your man!"
The person indicated was well-dressed, rather good-looking, and about thirty-five years old. There was nothing particularly striking about his appearance.
It would have been easy to have found dozens of such men on lower Broadway any day.
Nick feared a mistake. But Gaspard was sure.
"I never forget a face," he said. "That is the man whom I saw coming out of room B. That is the murderer."