When the detective left the house it was with the determination to have Craven's movements watched while his reticence continued. At the inquest, that evening, the surgeon who conducted the autopsy was first examined. He had found all the organs in a healthy condition, and his opinion was that death had resulted from strangulation. For reasons which the chief of the secret service men approved, Nick Carter did not give Craven's name to the coroner. The inquest, it was certain, could not, with positiveness, name the murderer, and, therefore, the main purpose of the official proceeding was carried out and in a satisfactory way. The verdict was that a murder had been committed and that death had resulted from strangulation. One of the employees at the railway-station--Hayman by name--nodded his head as the verdict was read, and these words fell from his lips: "That's right, and I am onto the man." "What's that?" The speaker was Nick Carter. Hayman looked up, recognized the great detective--they were old acquaintances--and at once said: "I've got an idea, that's all." "Then we will walk to a quiet place and you shall tell me about it," returned Nick firmly; and taking Hayman by the arm he led the man to the sidewalk. In the second story of a building a few doors below the morgue, Nick found a place suitable for a private conversation. It was one of a suite of rooms occupied by a lawyer of the detective's acquaintance. The lawyer luckily was in the main office at the time, doing night work on an important civil case on trial, and he cheerfully ushered them into the consultation office, where they would be secure from interruption. After Nick and Hayman had lighted cigars, the railway man spoke: "I wish now that I had informed the coroner of what I know." "Why didn't you inform him?" "Because I was afraid I might suffer Playfair's fate. I have a family. I am anything but rich, and a man has to consider such things, you know." "Oh! yes," said Nick, with a faint touch of scorn. "On the night of the murder I was occupied in the railway office up to half-past eleven in making out my weekly statement. When I had finished I thought I would walk down to the roundhouse and see if everything there was all right, for one of the wipers was sick and the other would not come on duty until midnight. I was close by the door and was about to turn the knob, when I heard the sound of voices. Two men were speaking. One was an American; the other's voice betrayed a slight accent which I could not place. "'Two hours to wait,' said the American, 'before the train pulls out.' "There was a short pause, and then the other spoke: 'There's that Craven business. What if the fellow squeals?' "'He won't dare to,' said the American, 'for he has too much fear of me. Besides, it was he who suggested that I come to Washington and interview the old man.'