Nick looked at the note. It was upon a Chicago bank, and the number corresponded with a number on a list of bank-notes which he had carried away from St. Louis. Every number on the list was burned into his memory, for they were the notes stolen from the body of Cora Reesey. It was plain, therefore, that if this bank-note which the detective held in his hand was not filched from the pocket of James Playfair, but had been stowed away in the pocket of the murderer, then the murderer was the St. Louis robber. And who was he? Nick had the glimmer of an idea, but that was all. CHAPTER XI. FEVERSHAM'S STRANGE DISCOVERY. Having possessed himself of all the facts the local detectives were able to give, Nick Carter had dinner and then went to his rooms to await reports from Chick and Patsy. Chick was the first to present himself. "I suppose you have heard about the finding of the bank-note?" began Chick. "Well, there is this in addition: I found a negro--a wharf porter--who says that on the afternoon preceding the murder he had that note in his hands." "Who gave it to him?" "A dark-faced man of about thirty. The man wanted the negro to go into a grocery near the wharf and get the note changed. In explanation he said he owed the grocer a bill and wasn't ready to pay it. Otherwise he would go himself. The negro went to the store, but the grocer was short of small bills and so the note did not change hands." "How does the negro know it is the same note?" "By the number. He was afraid it was counterfeit and scrutinized it carefully." "Had the negro ever seen the dark-faced man before?" "No. He was a stranger." "How was he dressed?" "In a business suit of speckled brown. Derby hat. He wore a black mustache and had a diamond in his shirt-front. That's all the description the negro could give." "Did you make any other discoveries?" "Yes, one more, and an important one, Nick. There's a man on L Street, near the river, who knows something. The negro saw him talking with the dark-faced fellow some fifteen minutes before the note-changing proposition was broached. The negro has just returned from a day's absence from town, and that's why his story has not yet reached the ears of the Washington sleuths." "What is the name of the man who lives on L Street?" "Prosper Craven. He is a man of family: used to keep the grocery and has some money, though he is far from rich." "What is his reputation? Did you learn?" "His reputation is good. But he is a silent, reserved man and does not mingle much among his neighbors." "I must see him at once. Meanwhile, wire Chief Wittman at San Francisco, asking him if he knows anything of one Arthur Mannion, giving description." "What's your idea?" "I'll tell you later. It is in the hatching process. It may be a chicken, it may be a duck." Chick grinned. "I'll wait serenely," he said, "for I know that the result won't show that you are a goose."