They walked over to the office of Allen, Morse & Jones.

Mr. Allen was there.

“Good-morning, Mr. Allen,” said Jones, “My name has got me into trouble again.”

“How is that?”

“Did you read about that French restaurant murder last night?”

“Well, I glanced at the story in one of the papers.”

“This Frenchman here is a waiter in the place.  He saw me in an elevated train just now, and told this other man, who is a detective, that I was the party who took that woman to the restaurant.

“That was bad enough, but when they found out what my name was, they convicted me immediately.  It appears that the visitor to the restaurant signed the very uncommon name of John Jones on the books.”

“Why, what the devil!” exclaimed Allen, looking wrathfully at poor Gaspard, who was shaking in his shoes.  “Don’t you know that this is a serious matter?  What do you mean?”

“He is the man,” cried Gaspard.  “If I were dying, I would swear with my last breath that he is the man.”

“But who’s the woman?” asked Allen, turning to Nick.  “And what has she to do with my partner?”

“That I cannot say,” replied Nick; “she has not been identified.”

“Then you have absolutely nothing to go upon except this fellow’s word?”

“Nothing.”

“Why, this is nonsense.”

“Perhaps so,” said Nick, “but you will admit that I would be false to my duty if I did not make an investigation.”

“Investigate all you wish,” laughed Jones.  “But don’t bother me any more than you have to.  This is my busy day.”

“I’m going right away,” said Nick.  “All I want of you is that you will give me your address, and meet me at your home in the latter part of the afternoon.”

“Very well,” said Jones, and he scribbled on a piece of paper.  “I’ll be there at half-past four o’clock.”

Nick thanked Mr. Jones for his courtesy, and immediately withdrew.  But he did not go far.

In a convenient doorway he wrote a note to Chick, on the back of the scrap of paper which Jones had given him, and sealed it in an envelope.

Then he sent Gaspard with it to Chick, who was on the lookout in the undertaker’s room, where the body lay.

Having dispatched this message, Nick changed his disguise and kept watch over the establishment of Allen, Morse & Jones.

Nothing of importance happened until a little after noon, when a reply came from Chick.

Translated from the detective’s cipher, it read as follows: 

    “The address is that of a good flat house.  Jones lives there with
    his wife.

    “They have been there only about two months.  Nobody in the house
    knows anything about them.

    “They had one servant, who was taken sick about two weeks ago and
    carried to a hospital, where she died.

    “Since then they have lived absolutely alone.  There was nobody in
    the house who had seen Mrs. Jones’ face.  She always wore a heavy
    veil.