After reading over the papers left behind by Jason Marrow, Old Broadbrim arose and thrust them into an inner pocket.
His face was as serene as ever, and nothing told that he had found what might prove a clew.
From Clippers' house he went direct to the offices of the Cunard Line.
It was the day for the sailing of one of that line's boats for Liverpool, and the detective was soon looking over the list of passengers.
Suddenly his eye stopped at a name and rested there.
It was a name he had just seen in the papers he had read in Clippers' house.
"Too late!" said the detective, as he turned away. "A few hours too late. The murderer is gone. Ere this he is fairly at sea on the deck of the Campania and I—I am in New York!"
Old Broadbrim quitted the office and got once more into the sunlight.
Taking a cab, he hastened to the offices of the White Star Line, and entered coolly but anxious.
He inquired at the proper desk when the next steamer of the line sailed for Liverpool.