He almost ran into Brockey, who had separated from Darwin, who was hurrying off up the street in the direction of Broadway.
Brockey did not recognize the detective, and, with an oath, he passed around the corner.
Carter started after Darwin. He reached Broadway a few seconds later than he, and by a lucky chance he was able to get on the same car with him.
Carter was sure that he had struck the right trail. Indeed, he was firmly convinced now that Darwin and Rich were implicated in the murder, that they had formed together some dastardly plot.
The detective did not make any effort to surmise what that plot was.
It was too early yet to start to theorize.
By the detective’s side on the platform of the car Darwin stood, entirely unconscious that the man whom he had paid Brockey to kill was near him.
When the car reached Thirty-first Street, Darwin jumped off, lighted a cigar, and strolled leisurely down the block, turning into Sixth Avenue.
Carter was not far behind him.
“I’m going to find out more about you, my lad,” the detective thought, as he followed Darwin into a crowded dance hall.