His name was McCulloch; his father had emigrated from Belfast, and a man of such ancestry seldom takes anything for granted.
"I suppose you are not quite certain, Mr.Curtis, that the chauffeur driving that car ahead is the 'Anatole' concerned in the death of Mr.
Hunter ?" he asked.
But Curtis was of a cautious temperament, too.
"No," he said, "that is more than I dare state, even if I had an opportunity to look at him closely.

As it is, I merely received what I may term 'an impression' of him.

That, together with the marked similarity of the car to the one I saw outside the hotel, seems to offer reasonable ground for inquiry at any rate." "Did you notice the number of this car ?" "No, not exactly.

I believe it differs from that which I undoubtedly did see and put on record." "Of course, the plate must have been changed or he would never venture in this locality again.

If you are right, sir, the fellow must possess a mighty cool nerve, because he is just passing 27th Street, within a few yards of the hotel." Somehow, the fact had escaped Curtis's remembrance; excellent though his topographical sense might be, he was still sufficient of a stranger in New York not to appreciate the bearings of particular localities with the prompt discrimination necessarily displayed by the policeman.
During the succeeding few seconds none of the occupants of the limousine spoke.