my fur
and putting the picture out of my mind.

When I turned the corner into Broadway it was brighter. The sun was
shining on the outspread wings of the eagle in his niche and turning the
icicles that hung from the window ledges into golden fringes. Near the
entrance a man in a checked jumper and peaked cap was breaking away the
bits of ice that stuck to the sidewalk with a long-handled thing like a
spade. And all about were people, queer, mangy-looking men and some
women, standing staring at the pavement and then craning their necks and
squinting up through the sunlight at the top of the building.

I sized up the man in the jumper as a janitor, and for all he seemed so
busy, you could see he was really hanging round for ana false name,
representing himself as a chauffeur joy-riding in a borrowed car. He
told this lie hoping to be able to hush the matter up the next day.

When he read of his boss' disappearance in the papers he was uneasy,
knowing discovery could not be long postponed. The number of the
car--overlooked in the rush of bigger matters--was made public in the
evening papers of the seventeenth. Then he knew the game was up,
admitted his deception and the identity of his employer.

Inquiries at the Elizabeth depot confirmed his story. The Jersey Central
and Pennsylvania tracks run side by side through the station. At
nine-thirty on the night of January fifteenth the ticket agent of the
Pennsylvania Line remembered selling a Philadelphia ticket to a man
answering the description of Barker. He did not see this man