Hawes was a small broker. He lived in Eighteenth street, and had an office in Wall street.
He lived too far up town, I thought, to go home every day to his dinner; he went then, most probably, always to the same eating house, and one not far from his office.
After inquiring at several restaurants near by, I came to one in Liberty street, where, on asking if Mr. Hawes was in the habit of dining there, the waiter said yes.
'Have you seen a young man here with him, lately?' I inquired.
'No—no one in particular,' replied the waiter.
'Are you sure of it? Come, think.'
After scratching his head for a moment, he said:
'Yes, there has been a young man here speaking to him once or twice.'
'How did he look?'
'He was short, and had black hair and eyes.'