"But how about the man who came out of this room? He's the one we're after."
"I would know him," said Gaspard, slowly. "Yes; I feel sure that I could identify him."
"That's good. Now for the crime itself. Go back to the desk and ring for a messenger. When he comes, send him here. Don't let anybody else come, and don't say a word to anybody about this affair."
Gaspard, with a very pale face, went back to his desk.
Nick remained alone with the beautiful dead.
CHAPTER II.
GASPARD SPOTS HIS MAN.
A revolver lay on the carpet just where it would have been if it had dropped from the woman's right hand.
Its position suggested the possibility of suicide, and there was, at the first glance, nothing to contradict that theory, except the conduct of Corbut and the man who had registered as John Jones.
It might be that the woman had committed suicide, and the men had fled for fear of being implicated in the affair.
Nick examined this side of the case at once.
The pistol had evidently been held only a few inches from the woman's head when it was fired.
Her white flesh showed the marks of the powder.
The bullet had passed straight through the head.
The revolver carried a long thirty-two cartridge. Three of the five chambers were loaded.
One of them contained an empty shell, on which the hammer rested. The fatal bullet had doubtless come from this chamber, for the shell had been recently discharged.
In the fifth chamber was an old shell, which had apparently been carried under the hammer for safety, as is quite common.
The woman had a purse containing about twenty dollars, but no cards or other things which might lead to identification.
Her ears had been pierced for earrings, but she seemed not to have worn them recently. She had no watch.
There was one plain gold ring on the third finger of her right hand, and there was a deep mark showing that she had worn another, but that ring was gone.
How recently it had been removed was, of course, beyond discovery.
There was no sign that it had been violently torn away.
When Nick had proceeded thus far with his investigation the messenger boy arrived. The detective sent messages to his assistants, Chick and Patsy.
He then notified a coroner, who came about ten o'clock and took charge of the body.
A minute examination failed to reveal any marks upon the clothing which might assist in establishing the woman's identity.
Nick then left the restaurant, taking Gaspard with him. Inspector Mclaughlin's men were by this time on hand, and they took charge of the house, under Nick's direction.
At seven o'clock in the morning Nick received a message from Patsy, who had been directed to find the cabman in whose cab Corbut had fled.
Patsy had located the cabman at his home on West Thirty-second street.
The man's name was Harrigan.
Nick took Gaspard with him and went to the house where Harrigan boarded.
"I got on to him easy enough," said Patsy, whom they found outside the house. "I found the policeman who was on that beat last night, and got him to give me a list of all the night-hawks he'd seen around there up to eight o'clock of the evening.
"Then I began to chase up the fellows on that list. The second man put me on to Harrigan. He remembered seeing him get the job, but couldn't tell what sort of a man hired him.
"I guess there's no doubt that he's the man, but I haven't questioned him yet. He's in there asleep."
Nick passed himself off as a friend of Harrigan's, and was directed with Patsy to the man's room.
They went in without being invited, after having tried in vain to get an answer to their pounding on his door.
The cabman was snoring in a heavy slumber.
"From what I heard," said Patsy, "Harrigan had a very large skate on last night. He's sleeping it off."
Nick shook the man unmercifully, and at last he sat up in bed.
"What t' 'ell?" said he, looking about him wildly. "Who are youse, an'
wha's the row?"
As the quickest way to sober the man, Nick showed his shield. It acted like a cold shower-bath.
"Say, what was it I done?" gasped Harrigan. "S' help me, I dunno nothing about it. I had a load on me last night, an' I ain't responsible."
Patsy laughed.
"There's no charge against you," said Nick; "I only want to ask you a few questions."
Harrigan sank back on the pillow with a gasp of relief.
"Gimme that water-pitcher," he said; "me t'roat's full o' cobwebs."
He drank about a quart of water, and then declared himself ready for a cross-examination. Nick sized him up for a decent sort of fellow; and saw no reason to doubt that he was telling the truth when he answered the questions that were put to him.
It appeared that he had been on Seventh avenue, near the French restaurant, from a little after six to about half-past seven on the previous evening.
At the latter hour a man had engaged his cab. He had taken it to the side door of the restaurant, and the waiter had got in. The man who hired the cab was already inside.