Until he had a closer look at him, Austin Cole, the twenty-three-year-old conductor, thought that the man in the derby and the walrus mustache was a Portuguese named Tony. Cole asked if they were going to Brockton and the other man, who was clean-shaven, said yes. At that hour the car was almost empty. The newcomers walked stiffly down the aisle and sat in the first cross-seat at the rear. Somehow they reminded Cole of a pair who had got on at the same place about the same time a few weeks back. The car swayed and rattled through the darkness. Where North Elm Street crossed the Brockton line it became Copeland Street, and the houses—most of them with their lights out now—began to give way to small shops and an occasional church. Cole, counting transfers, eyed the strangers in the back seat. They were aliens. Anyone could see that. The high-cheek boned man with the drooping mustache was easy to spot, but beyond his obviousness there was a quality about them both—a stiffness of feature, a fixed look to the eyes, just the awkward way they wore their clothes—that set them apart. Americans were put together more loosely. When Warren Laughton arrived home and received Ruth Johnson’s message, he had no idea what was back of it but called Chief Stewart at once. However, by the time Stewart arrived at the Johnson house the two strangers were already on the Brockton car. How Stewart knew they were on that car is not wholly clear. One account has it that Johnson followed them and saw the car stop at Sunset Avenue. It may be that the unnamed woman at the corner of Sunset Avenue reported them. In any case, Stewart went to the Bartlett house and called the Brockton police headquarters. A few minutes before 10 P.M. Michael Connolly, the officer on duty at Station 2, Campello, received a call from the Brockton central station telling him that two foreigners on the trolley from Bridgewater had just tried to steal an auto. The trolley was due in Brockton any minute. Connolly put down a sandwich, nodded to the sergeant at the desk, and hurried off to Main Street with Officer Earl Vaughn. Vaughn walked north, Connolly headed south. It was four minutes past ten. Connolly saw the trolley’s headlight as it turned into Main Street from Keith Avenue. A hulking, florid, pugnacious man who liked a good pinch, he hoped that the suspects had not got off. He signaled to the motorman and swung aboard while the trolley was still moving. As Connolly steadied himself and glanced down the aisle he saw the foreigners in the rear seat. A year later at the Dedham trial he gave his version of the arrest: