"What did you do before that?" "I had dinner with my wife, and then put her aboard a train. She's gone away on a visit." "Where has she gone?" "No, sir; none of that. I don't propose to have a detective go flying after her to scare her to death. She keeps out of this mess, if I have any say about it." "But if you're arrested she'll hear about it and come back to the city." "I'm not going to be arrested. You're too sensible a man to do such a thing. I can see that. "Here we are. We get off at Franklin street. My place of business is just a little way up the street, toward Broadway." They left the train. Nick was beginning to feel that a mistake had been made. This man's easy manner and perfect confidence were hard to square with the idea of his guilt. "By the way," said the suspect, as they descended the stairs, "I forgot to give you my card." He handed it to Nick as he spoke, and the detective read this: MR. JOHN JONES. ALLEN, MORSE & JONES, Electrical Fixtures, _The "Sunlight" Lamp_. "What did I tell you!" exclaimed Gaspard, who was looking over Nick's shoulder. "It is the name that was on the register. He is the man." But Nick took a different view. He was of the opinion that Mr. Jones had presented very strong evidence of his complete innocence. Anybody else might have signed himself "John Jones," but the real John Jones, never! It would be mighty hard to convince a jury that a man meditating murder had recorded his correct name for the benefit of the police. The coincidence was certainly astonishing, but it was in Jones' favor. They walked over to the office of Allen, Morse & Jones. Mr. Allen was there. "Good-morning, Mr. Allen," said Jones, "My name has got me into trouble again." "How is that?" "Did you read about that French restaurant murder last night?" "Well, I glanced at the story in one of the papers." "This Frenchman here is a waiter in the place. He saw me in an elevated train just now, and told this other man, who is a detective, that I was the party who took that woman to the restaurant. "That was bad enough, but when they found out what my name was, they convicted me immediately. It appears that the visitor to the restaurant signed the very uncommon name of John Jones on the books." "Why, what the devil!" exclaimed Allen, looking wrathfully at poor Gaspard, who was shaking in his shoes. "Don't you know that this is a serious matter? What do you mean?" "He is the man," cried Gaspard. "If I were dying, I would swear with my last breath that he is the man." "But who's the woman?" asked Allen, turning to Nick. "And what has she to do with my partner?" "That I cannot say," replied Nick; "she has not been identified." "Then you have absolutely nothing to go upon except this fellow's word?" "Nothing." "Why, this is nonsense." "Perhaps so," said Nick, "but you will admit that I would be false to my duty if I did not make an investigation."