Part 5 (2/2)
”The man probably came from New York,” suggested Jack.
”Why do you ask that?”
”Because he had black mud on his boots.”
”Well, he didn't; the man was a Jersey man.”
”How do you know?”
”He had Jersey red mud on his shoes.”
”Oh, he wore shoes?”
”No, he did not, he wore boots. Let me see, yes, he wore boots. He was probably a farm hand, a friendless fellow. That is the reason his body was never claimed.”
”He wore a high beaver hat. A farm hand would not be apt to wear a high beaver hat.”
”What do you know about it?” demanded Mr. Douglas.
”Nothing; I am only guessing.”
”Well, you are guessing wrong. He wore a wide-brimmed slouch hat.”
”He did?”
”Yes.”
”You are sure?”
”I can see him as plainly as though my eyes were fixed on his dying face at this moment.”
”And he had clear black eyes--regular French eyes.”
”Well, it's strange how you talk, Mr. Newspaper Man; you're not good at guessing. His eyes were not black; I will never forget the color of his eyes; they were fixed on me with a look of agony while he tried to speak. They were a clear blue--yes, sir, as blue as the midday sky.”
Our readers can imagine the exultation of the detective as he elicited the description we have recorded, and indeed he had reason to exult, for he had secured a clue in the most remarkable manner. His keenness had been marvelous; his success was equally wonderful; but he had after all only secured a starter. But there was a revelation to come that caused him to stop and consider whether or not any credit really was due him, and whether it was not a strange Providence which had after forty years guided him to the startling starting point for the following up of a great clue.
The old man's suspicions had at last been aroused. He glanced at the detective in a suspicious manner, and said:
”See here, young man, I am not a fool; no, sir, neither am I blind--I mean intellectually blind.”
”You are a very bright and remarkable old gentleman.”
”I am?”
”Yes.”
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