Then, as one in a
dream, Curtis gave the policeman the details of the crime, the name of
the chauffeur, and the number of the car, his testimony being borne out
to some extent by the hall-porter, and, so far as the car was
concerned, by the sharp-eyed driver of the taxi. His own name and
address were taken, and a police captain and a couple of detectives,
called to the scene by telephone, thanked him for his alertness in
securing valuable clews, not only in regard to the car and chauffeur
but also in describing the features, figure, and dress of one of the
criminals.
Finally, he was warned to hold himself in readiness to attend the
opening of an inquest on the following morning, and the police
intimated that they did not desire the presence of witnesses while the
dead man's clothing was being scrutinized.
So Curtis went out into the street, and, with no other purpose than to
avoid the publicity and questioning of the crowd gathered in and around
the hotel, sauntered into Broadway. At the corner he halted for a
moment to put on the overcoat. He had gone some few yards up the
brilliantly illuminated thoroughfare when he fancied that his nervous
system needed the tonic of a cigar, and he searched in the pockets of
the overcoat for a box of matches he had placed there before leaving
his bedroom.
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