Barney paid no attention to the other passengers, but turning his head, gazed steadfastly out of the window.
At the station nearest to Christopher Street, he got off, and hurrying down that street, turned into Hudson. Then he began looking for No. 515, the two detectives still close behind him.
At length he found the saloon, and after one hasty glance, entered it.
Old Spicer and Killett approached the door. A hard-looking bummer was loafing on the outside, waiting for some one, or any one, out of whom he might beat a drink.
"Who runs this establishment?" asked Killett.
"Jimmie Taylor," was the prompt reply.
"Ah! Jimmie Taylor, eh? Guess this will do for us. Let's go in and have something."
"Thank ye, sir, I don't mind if I do," exclaimed the bum, with alacrity.
"I wasn't speaking to you, sir," laughed Killett. "However, come along; I don't mind planting another nail in your coffin."
They entered, and discovered Barney at a table in a corner, with a glass of whisky before him.