“You thought it was peculiar?”

“Not peculiar, exactly; but sort of—­of—­interesting.”

“I see.  Go ahead!”

“Well, she was carrying that suit-case, and she seemed in a sort of a hurry.  She walked straight out of the door and toward the curb, and—­”

“Did she appear to be expecting some one?”

“No, sir.  I noticed that particularly.  Sort of thought a fine lady like her would have some one to meet her, which is how I happened to notice that she didn’t seem to expect nobody.  She come right to the curb and called me.  I was parked along the curb on the right side of Atlantic Avenue—­headin’ north, that is—­and I rolled up.  She handed me the suit-case and told me to drive her to No. 981 East End Avenue.  I stuck the suit-case right where you got it from just now; and while I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ about what happened back yonder in the cab, Mr. Carroll, I’ll bet anything in the world that that there suit-case is the same one she carried through the waitin’-room and handed to me.”

“H-m!  Peculiar.  You drove straight out here, Walters?”

“Straight as a bee-line, sir.  Frozen stiff, I was, drivin’ right into the wind eastward along East End Avenue, and I had to raise the windshield a bit because there was ice on it and I couldn’t see nothin’—­an’ my headlights ain’t any too strong.”

“You didn’t stop anywhere?”

“No, sir.  Wait a minute—­I did!”

“Where?”

“At the R.L. and T. railroad crossing, sir.  I didn’t see nor hear no train there, and almost run into it.  It was a freight, and travelin’ kinder slow.  I seen the lights of the caboose and stopped the car right close to the track.  I wasn’t stopped more’n fifteen or twenty seconds, and just as soon as the train got by, I went on.”

“But you did stand still for a few seconds?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If any one had got into or out of the cab right there, would you have heard them?”

“I don’t know that I would.  I was frozen stiff, like I told you, sir; and I wasn’t thinking of nothin’ like that.  Besides, the train was makin’ a noise; an’ me not havin’ my thoughts on nothin’ but how cold I was, an’ how far I had to drive, I mos’ prob’ly wouldn’t have noticed—­although I might have.”

“Looks to me,” chimed in Leverage, “as if that’s where the shift must have taken place; though it beats me—­”

Carroll lighted a cigarette.  Of the three men, he was the only one who seemed impervious to the cold.  Leverage and the taxi-driver were both shivering as if with the ague.  Carroll, an enormous overcoat snuggled about his neck, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his boyish face set with interest, seemed perfectly comfortable.  As a matter of fact, the unique circumstances surrounding the murder had so interested him that he had quite forgotten the weather.

“Obviously,” he said to Leverage, “it’s up to us to find out whether the people at this house here expected a visitor.”