"Well," said Nick, appearing to consider the subject deeply, "I would like some evidence of a motive."
"I don't believe there was any motive. The thing was done in anger."
"Then I want evidence of a really serious quarrel."
"Very well; you wait right here, and I'll bring a man who knows something about it. I heard of him this morning, and had time to ask him a few questions, but I don't know all he has to tell."
Deever hastily left the room. From the window Nick saw Deever pass up West One Hundred and Forty-third street, on which the house stood. He was going in the direction of St. Nicholas avenue.
In less than an hour he returned with a young man whom he presented as the important witness for whom he had been in search.
"Your name is Adolf Klein?" said Nick.
The witness nodded. He was a bashful, awkward fellow, who did not seem to be possessed of the average intelligence.
"Where do you work?" was the next question.
"I'm a bartender in Orton's saloon, up on the avenue."
"Do you know what has become of Patrick Deever?"
"All I know is this: I was passing the grounds of the hospital Monday evening and stopped just by the wall. The reason I stopped was that I heard Pat Deever inside, talking very loud. He called somebody an old fool and swore at him."
The witness paused. He seemed to be a good deal excited. It was not very warm in the room, but the perspiration was pouring off of Klein's forehead.
"Was that all you heard?" asked Nick.
"No; I heard more hard talk, and then a blow was struck. It sounded heavy and dull. Then came more blows. Somebody seemed to be pounding. It sounded as if he was pounding on the ground, and if it hadn't been for the loud talk just before, I'd have thought that Pat was smoothing down a flower-bed with his spade."
"Did you hear any talking after the blow?"
"I didn't hear Pat's voice again."
"Did you hear any voice?"
"I heard somebody muttering. The voice sounded like Dr. Jarvis'. I've been to the hospital, and I know the doctor."
"Did you look over the wall?"
"No; it's too high there. I ran around to the gate on St. Nicholas avenue and tried to see in; but I couldn't. There were too many trees between me and the garden."
"Then what did you do?"
"I went home."
"Did you say anything about what you had heard?"
"Not that night."
"When did you first speak of it?"
"This morning."
"To whom?"
"To Mr. Deever. He was in the saloon, and he told me that his brother was missing."
"Well," cried Deever, who could keep silence no longer, "what do you think of that?"
"It is important evidence."
"You remember," Deever continued, "that when I went to ask Jarvis where my brother was, he admitted having quarreled with him, but said that it ended in words. Now we know that it ended in blows."
"What time was it when you heard that blow?" asked Nick of Klein.
"Must have been about half-past seven," Klein replied.
"How do you know?"
"When I walked up the avenue I saw the clock on the church up by One Hundred and Fiftieth street. It was a quarter of eight."
"That fits the case exactly," Deever exclaimed. "It was a little after half-past seven when Burns saw Jarvis coming in from the garden."
"That is true."
"Will you arrest Jarvis now?"
"I will not," said Nick. "The evidence is not yet sufficient."
Deever made an impatient gesture.
"Remember," said Nick, "that an accusation of murder leaves an indelible stain. We cannot move too carefully."
"You will let him escape."
"His escape is utterly impossible," said Nick. "He is watched."
"A good many men have been watched and have got away."
"Nobody ever got away from the man who is watching Jarvis," said Nick, quietly; and that praise was not too high, for the person in question was Nick's famous assistant, Chick.
"And now," said Deever, "may I ask what more you need in the way of evidence?"
"I need proof of your brother's death."
"In short, we must find the body."
"Exactly."