He had no interest in the proceedings, nevertheless, until the case of Thomas Carney was called and that worthy put in an appearance—a stocky, dark man of thirty, wearing a scowl evincing his resentment of his long detention in custody.
Much to his surprise, no doubt, as well as that of his lawyer, the court was favorably impressed with the argument of his attorney, and decided there were no grounds for longer holding the prisoner, and Mr. Thomas Carney was forthwith discharged.
Patsy Garvan, the spectator in baggy brown, then had disappeared from the courtroom. He was watching from across the street the door from which Carney would emerge, and he had not long to wait.
Carney came out with his lawyer, with whom he shook hands before they parted. He then hurried through Sixth Street, bringing up in a few minutes near Center Market, where he was met by a seedy fellow who emerged from the market, and who evidently said a few words to him while passing.
Patsy was not near enough to hear him, however, though he detected the fact and came to a quick conclusion.
“That fellow was waiting for him and gave him instructions from some one,” he said to himself. “It has started him in a new direction. It’s money to marbles that he was directed where to meet Margate.”
Patsy was right to that extent.
Carney appeared, however, to have no thought that he might be followed, which made it perfectly easy for Patsy to shadow him.
Pausing only once in a barroom, where he gulped a stiff drink of whisky, Carney shaped a course that took him into one of the lowest parts of the city, where he brought up at an inferior wooden house adjoining a narrow court making in next to the bare back wall of a brewery.
Sauntering by the court, into which Carney had quickly disappeared, Patsy saw that a diverging alley led to the back of the house, beyond which was a motley collection of old buildings, at none of the windows of which he could discover any person.