"Well, I will go along, too, if you don't mind." 

 "By all means," said the man, and he looked much relieved. 

 "I understand what your duty is," he continued. "Since this imported French jackass has made this charge, of course you'll have to look into it. Come down to the office and make some inquiries, and then go up to my flat. I was at home last evening after eight o'clock. 

 "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. 

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