With the shadower gone, Adam Adams meditated for a moment and then donned his walking coat and his hat. In his pockets he placed several large but rather flat packages.
"I am going out, Miss Harringford," he said to the clerk. "If I am not back by five o'clock, you may lock up and go home. Be on hand as usual in the morning."
Down in the street he hopped aboard a passing car and rode eight blocks. He entered an office building, went up in an elevator to the third floor, and took himself to a suite of offices occupied by certain United States secret service officers.
"I want to see Mr. Breslow," he said, and was shown to a private apartment, where an elderly man sat, studying several reports.
"How are you, Adams!" was the greeting.
"Rather busy to-day, but what can I do for you?"
"I want to sell you some bank bills," was the reply, and Adam Adams dumped the package on the desk. Mr. Breslow opened it and examined the contents.
"By the jumping Judas! Where did you get those? Say, this is worth while."
"I guess you haven't rounded up quite as many as I have, have you?" said the detective, with a grim smile.
"As many? Why, man, we've only run across sixteen so far, and you've got thirty. They are such a clever counterfeit that even the banks get nipped. This is wonderful! I didn't know you were following this trail. Why didn't you say something before? Or maybe you wanted to spring a surprise, and make some of the boys, down here feel cheap."