“And then?” asked Chick, who was at a loss to follow his chief, who was laying out a plan so different from his usual course.
“Then I shall have every step he takes shadowed and every move he makes watched.”
“And yet you do not believe that Masson killed Ethel Romney?”
“It will not do to say that, Chick. I have told you that I am more puzzled over this case than any I ever had to do with. I will admit to you that, starting with the suspicions of Mrs. Constant, and her reasons, all the indications are just as she suggests—that Ethel Romney was killed by Eric Masson, supposing her to be Blanche Constant. But when it is all done, I cannot make up my mind that he did do it.
“Now, I propose to settle that question beyond dispute.”
“Patsy,” said Chick, suddenly, “what sort of looking man is Eric Masson?”
“About your height,” said Patsy, “brown beard and hair, straight nose, pretty high, eyes close together, so dark as to look black, set well back in his head, dresses very swell.”
“Good!” exclaimed Chick. “Now, chief, a man of exactly that description appeared in front of that dressmaker’s place in Sixth Avenue, to which Ethel Romney went, just after Ethel was there the first time, and hung around there so long that three people had their attention attracted to him.
“One of them saw the carriage drive up a second time, saw the lady it carried get out a second time, saw this man dart out of an adjoining doorway and follow her as she passed through into the place, speak to her, come out again and get into that carriage.
“This same person saw the lady come out and attempt to enter the carriage, heard a little cry from her as she stepped in, and saw the man hurriedly close the door of the coach.