After boarding the train they had walked through it hurriedly, and in
the car next the engine Gaspard had clutched Nick's arm, whispering:

"There is your man!"

The person indicated was well-dressed, rather good-looking, and about
thirty-five years old. There was nothing particularly striking about his
appearance.

It would have been easy to have found dozens of such men on lower
Broadway any day.

Nick feared a mistake. But Gaspard was sure.

"I never forget a face," he said. "That is the man whom I saw coming out
of room B. That is the murderer."

The man was standing up and holding on to one of the straps. His profile
was turned to them.

Nick waited until he turned and showed his full face. The detective was
bound to give Gaspard every chance to change his mind.

But he remained firm, and at last Nick approached the accused and
suddenly whispered the terrifying words in his ear.

Having done so, he was obliged to carry it through. Therefore, when the
stranger asked Nick to repeat what he had said, the detective, in a low
voice, inaudible to anybody else in the car, told him what the