All through this talk each had been carefully looking around the station, though no one there could have suspected that they were paying attention to anything but themselves. In fact, Nick had been taking in the situation from the moment he met Kerr and Folsom. “Let’s go into the waiting-room,” he said, as he put away his time-table, “and buy a cigar and a newspaper.” As they crossed the large room they watched very carefully to see if any man was observing their movements. The crime had happened too late in the afternoon for the regular editions of the evening papers, but extras were now out, and a big pile of them had just been brought to the newsstand. Several men were at the counter buying the papers. Patsy went to the cigar case, and Nick asked for a paper. The boy behind the counter was very busy just then. Nick had to wait his turn, which didn’t trouble him any. “Mr. Claymore!” the boy called, suddenly; “you forgot your change.” “Oh! did I?” said a man, who had bought several papers, and was hurrying away. He came back and reached his hand across the counter. “Keep a nickel of it for your honesty,” he said. “Thankee, Mr. Claymore.” Nick bought his paper next, and Patsy joined him. They went slowly to a corner of the waiting-room, and sat down. “Well?” said Nick, as he unfolded the paper, and began to read about the death of the Rev. Mr. Judson. “Well,” repeated Patsy, “there’s nobody around now who was here when we came.” “I thought not.” Nick read for a moment, and then remarked: “That’s an honest newsboy.” “Yes,” returned Patsy, who had heard the talk about the forgotten change. “The man he spoke to was on the platform when we arrived.” “He was.” That was all they said about it. As a matter of fact, neither of them had the slightest suspicion of Claymore, any more than they had of any of the dozen others who had stayed in sight while Kerr and Folsom were there; but they remembered his face and name. That was a matter of habit with them. “Look it over,” said Nick, passing the paper to Patsy. While the young man read, Nick thought. At last he said: “I think we’ll call at the undertaker’s.” The name of the undertaker who had taken charge of Judson’s body was printed in the paper, and Nick inquired the way to his place from the first policeman they met. There was a crowd of curious idlers at the door, and a man stood there, who at first was not going to let the detectives in. “We want to see the body of the clergyman who——” Nick began. “I know you do!” interrupted the man, crossly, “and so does everybody else, but you can’t see!” “Can’t see when I have eyes,” retorted Nick, with a queer smile, and he pushed by the man into the building. The man was astonished. He had not expected this stranger to defy him, and there was something so commanding in Nick’s quiet way of doing things that he had let both detectives pass before he knew it. Then he followed them into the office, blustering: