“Can you describe him?” “He was pock-marked.” “Was he a tough?” “Yes.” “Would you be able to recognize him again?” “Yes.” Carter gave the boy a bill and told him not to mention their conversation to a soul. From the boy’s description he recognized Brockey Gann. At McKeever’s saloon the detective was fortunate enough to find the bartender who had been on duty on New Year’s Eve. He was acquainted with the man, and as soon as he made himself known to him he readily answered all his questions. They retired into a back room together, and as soon as they were seated Carter asked: “Are you acquainted with a man named Simeon Rich?” “I know who he is,” the bartender replied. “Do you remember if he was in here on New Year’s Eve?” “He was here with two men.” “At what time?” “It was about eleven o’clock.” “Do you know the men who were with him?” “One of the men was Brockey Gann--the other man I do not know, although I have seen him several times.” “How long did they remain here?” “Only a few minutes. They held a whispered conversation and then went out.” “Did you hear anything they said?” “Not a word.” This information only established one fact, and that was that Rich, Darwin, and Brockey were together on New Year’s Eve. Carter left the saloon. He stood on the corner some time trying to determine what he ought to do next. He was almost positive that Brockey Gann was the scoundrel who had tracked the murdered man. But how was he going to prove that? This was a conundrum. After a time Carter crossed the street and entered the establishment of a costumer. CHAPTER XI. ACTING A PART. Carter secured a disguise from the costumer. When he came out he looked like a typical tough. Nick had some plan in his mind. He was sure that he was on the right trail, and that, such being the case, it would not be long before he would have forged every link in the chain of evidence. While he was confident of success, still he did not know for a certainty who had committed the dastardly crime at the Red Dragon Inn, or what the real motive was. He had suspicions, and he had collected strong circumstantial evidence. But he wanted something more than this, and he was prepared to take any risk to obtain it. On his way downtown he stopped at a telephone station and called up Patsy, whose whereabouts he knew. “Meet me downtown at my den within two hours,” he said. At last he reached Lem Samson’s saloon, and entered. A bartender was on duty. Samson was not in the place. Only a few hangers-on were lolling about. Carter staggered up to the bar, and, calling for a drink, he cast his eyes about the room. No one seemed to be paying any particular attention to him. Nearly all of the men had records, and were known to the police. The detective poured the liquor into a cuspidor when the bartender’s back was turned. It was vile stuff, and he would not have drunk it unless he had been forced to do so by dire expediency.