“Sure. But, anyhow, my friend breaks away and I gets on the trolley to go to the stable. When I gets up to Fifty-eighth Street I goes into a saloon.
“When I had put away a couple of beers, I comes out and I stands in front lookin’ at a block a big truck loaded with iron had made, when I see Rawson pulled up.
“Then I see my swell guy in the coach open the door on the other side, get out, shut the door after him, and slip over to the other side.”
“What’s your name?” sharply asked Nick.
“What’s that to you?” replied the other.
“Johnny,” said Rawson, “this is Mr. Carter, the celebrated detective.”
The man started, a little frightened, and immediately became far more respectful.
“My name is Johnny Moran,” he said.
“What is your business, Moran?” asked Nick.
“I am a stableman, sometimes drivin’ for a livery stable right near where Rawson works.”